


Project FORCE

by unkissed



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Earth, Anal Sex, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Bad Parenting, Banter, Engineering, Evil Corporations, Explicit Language, Flirting, Future Earth Cyberpunk AU, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kylux - Freeform, Kylux Big Bang 2016, M/M, Masturbation, Men Crying, Nerd Hux, Neurology & Neuroscience, Oral Sex, Punk Ben Solo, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships, Robots, Science, Science Fiction, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Young Ben Solo, Young Hux, biomedical technology, hardcore crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7038961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>President Organa’s impetuous teenage son, Ben Solo, is kidnapped and held captive in the labs of Brendol Hux, a bright, young robotics engineer at Snoke Industries.</p><p>A Future Earth Cyberpunk AU tale in which Hux is a sexually deprived albeit sexy tech nerd, The Snark is strong with teenage Ben Solo, Phasma is a sassy droid with a crush, Snoke is a phantom CEO that nobody ever seems to see, Mitaka is an executive personal assistant who fails at dating, Han and Leia are terrible parents, and the planet is generally fucked.</p><p>Art by <a href="http://burn-gormans-eyelashes.tumblr.com">curiumKingyo</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ColorfulStabwound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/gifts).



> Thank you to the wonderful artist [curiumKingyo](http://burn-gormans-eyelashes.tumblr.com) who created the gorgeous visual montage at the last minute when the original artist bowed out of the bang. The little details that they plucked out of the story and put into their art is just brilliant. Such a pleasure to work with them!
> 
> Thanks to the Kylux Big Bang mods for their hard work and patience!
> 
> More thank-you's in the end notes, so don't think I forgot you.
> 
> Along the way, you’ll probably pick up on some of the pop culture influences that flavored this story. I’ll try to point them out at the end of the chapters in which they appear. Off the bat, I should shout out the film Ex-Machina for the obvious influence it had on my AU. Domhnall Gleeson is delicious in that movie.
> 
> Feedback is gold, so feel free to leave some.

****

**Art by[curiumKingyo](http://burn-gormans-eyelashes.tumblr.com)**

 

** PROLOGUE **

Earth was a beautiful, blue marble, spinning blissfully on its jauntily tilted axis, following its elliptical path around The Sun. To look at the planet from a distant vantage point, it would seem like a vibrant and rich environment, teeming with life. But Earth is a study in contrast.

 

Through one lens, it is a planet overflowing with life, covered in sparkling cerulean oceans, dotted with patches of inhabitable land. But focus on it with another lens, and one would see isolated dead rocks amidst a massive dead ocean.

 

It hadn’t always been this way.

 

The dominant species living on those now-dead rocks had consumed a disproportionate amount of resources, preventing other life from flourishing, causing mass extinctions. Their overconsumption burdened the natural environment to the breaking point. Ice caps melted; landmasses shrank. Already overpopulated cities were pushed to the brink and could no longer support the population. Those that did not perish of famine and disease died in endless wars. The detritus from the dominant species poisoned everything, from the soil, to the sea, to the air, until Earth became uninhabitable - it’s flora and fauna depleted, it’s natural resources exhausted. The world was nearly a dead planet.

 

But the dominant species adapted and used technology to compensate for otherwise unlivable conditions. Out of the polluted wasteland, emerged gleaming cities of glass and steel, rising impossibly high into the smog-blurred sky. And so the dominant species survived, hermetically sealed inside their sterile, plastic palaces, subsisting on engineered resources.

 

Still, resources were spread so thinly that societal structures, which had taken millennia to develop, were drastically reconfigured.   Groupings of similar, self-governing cultures, called _countries_ , could no longer survive autonomously. And for the first time ever in history, the dominant species of the planet fell under unified rule, banding together under a common goal – the survival of the human race. Demilitarization was enforced, weapons were outlawed, and a governmental federation was instated. This worldwide alliance was called The New Republic.

 

The New Republic ensured harmony and fair trade between geopolitically proportioned delegations. And in order to maintain peace and justice, laws structured every aspect of life. Every person had a precisely allotted space, a precisely designated set of responsibilities, and precisely allocated resources. One could not fall out of line without threatening the precarious stability of society.

 

That is not to say that everyone was equal and everything was doled out in equal portions. There was a brutally apparent hierarchy in place.

 

The government kept its citizens working efficiently, thus contributing adequately to the whole of humanity. Perhaps more importantly, the government ensured that its citizens were complacent with the hierarchy.

 

But ultimately, it was not the government that controlled the world.

 

At the forefront of technological advancement, multi-national corporations controlled industry and commerce, and hence the whole world. Corporations developed mechanisms to sustain life on what little resources remained. They engineered food from recycled biomass that barely passed as edible, engineered drugs so that humans could cope with the toxic environment, engineered domiciles that efficiently utilized small spaces. Their wealth bordered on obscene, but could be justified. Without the technology produced by the corporations, humans would have died along with the planet.

 

Unwilling to conform to the strict rules of New Republic society, bitterly aware of the inequalities between socioeconomic classes, there existed a whole other society on the fringe. Outside the walled metropolises was a whole other hidden world, where gangs lived by their own rules, trawling the ruins of war-torn old cities, trading by barter system. But even they could not survive without the resources manufactured by the corporations. The gangs clandestinely infiltrated the cities, trenching through the filth that settled on the surface of the municipalities, sneaking into maintenance sublevels to trade or to steal.

 

For generations, humans lived this way, in an unspoken dichotomy, with two very different worlds existing side-by-side in quiet discord - the antiseptic, shielded, high-rise metropolises beside filthy post-apocalyptic shantytowns, with everybody dependent on manufactured resources to some degree. But this way of living can only sustain itself for so long. Much sooner than everyone would like, the fragile blue marble upon which the human race stands will break entirely. And then everyone will die – from the most insignificant gangster, to the average Republic citizen, to the CEO of the most powerful corporation.

 

And so it is to the heavens that humans looked for salvation. Their goal: Leave Earth and find a more amiable planet to inhabit. One would think that all of humankind would remain united upon the foundation of such a desperate objective.

 

But I would not exist in my current form if all humans on Earth were unified.

 

The division is stark. It is upon this division, that I was created. This bold, existential statement shall be elaborated upon, but there is so much more that you need to understand first.

 

Like me, many believe that humans cannot exist as a species without destroying everything in the name of self-preservation. It is the view of many visionary corporations that humans, as an intelligent species, are entitled to Manifest Destiny. Humans won’t survive if they don’t find another planet and take it for themselves. They must disregard the cost to the preexisting population.

 

However, it is the policy of The New Republic that they seek asylum upon other inhabited planets and leave nothing but footprints and well wishes if they are denied said asylum. Under the tenets of government, humans are to arrive peacefully, are to stay if allowed, and are to leave peacefully if not. Thus far, New Republic idealism has gotten the human race nowhere.

 

Several years ago, in partnership with corporate industry, a fleet of five New Republic probe ships had been developed, equipped with hyper-drive engines that could cut through vast swathes of space in days. Teams of explorers had been sent to planets in other galaxies that scientists had deemed most likely to have favorable environmental conditions superior to that of the dying Earth.   The inhabitants of the target planets had destroyed four of the five ships, two of which had been shot down even before entering the atmosphere.

 

A single New Republic ship, carrying all but one of the twenty-six members of its team had come back to Earth, five years after it had launched. And in those five years, it had traveled to a galaxy far, far away, had touched down on a planet that astronomers had called _Lambda 7_ , found a paradise of biblical _Eden_ proportions, had been confronted by a less-than-friendly civilization (hence only twenty-five of the twenty-six team members returning), and had rushed back to Earth, having nearly depleted its supplies.

 

The return from Lambda 7 had launched an epic debate. To invade, to negotiate, or to move on. In the five years that the Lambda 7 team had been gone, technology had made exponential advances, such that the New Republic could send an army to the planet if it wanted to, and in a fraction of the time it had taken the probe ship. Lambda 7 could be the new home of the human race, if they took it by brute force.

 

In the end, diplomacy won out. An envoy ship was sent, carrying New Republic Representative Korr Sella of the North African Delegation amongst its team of linguists, sociologists, biologists, and engineers. She was to ask for asylum in exchange for technology that would help the inhabitants tap into their seemingly yet-to-be-utilized natural resources.

 

What Sella did not know, nor did anyone of The New Republic know, was that Snoke Industries, the corporation that engineered her envoy ship, had built a destroyer vessel with massive firepower. The ship was aptly named _The Rectifier_ in the wake of what Snoke presumed would be The New Republic’s diplomatic folly. Inside the ship was an army of white-armored droid soldiers, developed and produced in a massive secret operation called Project Stormtrooper. And at the helm of the ship, was I, a silent witness, recording everything for posterity and for science.

 

Sella’s negotiations failed, despite the indigenous civilization’s ability to understand human language through their own advanced technology. They saw through the peaceful façade and recognized the human race for what it was – an opportunistic parasite. And as the envoy ship retreated, The Rectifier advanced. Sella had not recognized the ship as something from her home planet, but instead saw it as evidence of a highly militarized society.

 

Sella did not linger to see The Rectifier’s attack on Lambda 7, nor did she see The Rectifier’s defeat as it was overtaken by speedy little fighter ships and was nearly destroyed.

 

The first battle for Lambda 7 was a slaughter, if one could equate the utter annihilation of two thousand droid soldiers with killing. Many humans cannot see robotics as living things, no matter how anthropomorphic their features, no matter how advanced their artificial intelligence. Few would weep at the loss of a couple thousand droids.

 

But if you are Brendol Hux, head engineer of the robotics division at Snoke Industries and director of Project Stormtrooper, you cry as if you’ve lost two thousand children – two thousand children of your own creation. You cry because everything you’ve worked towards in your short-but-industrious career has just been destroyed. You cry because your rigorous testing process had proven your poly-carbon soldiers to be nearly indestructible and you can’t understand how the entire unit had fallen like lemmings, one after the other. You cry because your fastidious code should’ve been flawless, and clearly, there must have been a bug if all of the droids allowed themselves to be blown up. You cry because, as your Stormptroopers took a direct hit, you took a direct blow to your ego.

 

Cry is exactly what _Hux_ , as he prefers to be called, had done. It had taken several hours for the communication transmission to reach Earth as an encrypted, carefully worded message that had appeared on the holographic screen generated by the communications link device circling Hux’s wrist – two sentences glowing on his mobile com link that were devastating enough to make him buckle over in his lab and openly weep on his knees in a fit of anger, disappointment, and despair.

 

_The Storm has been conclusively quelled. Await full debriefing before proceeding further._

** CHAPTER 1 **

“Report,” Hux commanded, devoid of the usual enthusiasm with which he had been known to greet Phasma, his most sophisticated, and thus most favored, droid.

 

The towering, sleek, humanoid robot approached Hux’s desk. Because Hux regarded the droid with such high esteem, he assigned it a pronoun. _Her_ highly polished chrome body moved with less fluidity than it should have. Her mechanics should not have been audible when she walked. Her diagnostics told her that she was in desperate need of service far more thorough than the brush-up she had received on board The Rectifier on its fifteen-day Earthbound trip. Because Hux had equipped her with an advanced intuitive thought processor, she wondered - She wondered if Hux considered her need for service a priority. And because Hux had also equipped her with emotion-mimicking artificial intelligence, she hoped - She hoped that he would see to her maintenance personally.

 

“Sir,” She gestured towards Hux with her silver hand and held the gesture for a fraction longer than a human would. She definitely required service. Something akin to the human emotion of embarrassment washed over her processors as she continued. “Squadron 1 was deployed on the surface, of which four scouts were sent to assess the surroundings. Scouts returned, indicating a reasonably manageable threat, and so Squadron 1 proceeded to clear the area.”

 

As she spoke, Hux sat slouched and inattentive in his chair, which she found most irregular, along with other markers of fatigue and/or depression. His ginger hair was mussed. His face was unshaven. Remote bio-sensors, which she clandestinely engaged, indicated that Hux had a fair amount of alcohol in his bloodstream. Phasma felt something akin to worry.

 

“Shall I continue?” she asked, concerned for her maker.

 

He asked distractedly, “What?” also very unlike him. Then, as if he had suddenly become aware of his current surroundings, he straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. “Er, yes. Go on.” But before Phasma could continue, Hux cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at her. “Your mouth plate is shattered. No wonder, you sound muffled.”

 

He got up from his chair to attend to the cracked grill that covered the speaker on her face. It was located on that part of her robotic head analogous to a human mouth. The way he fingered it gently, as if touching real lips, could make Phasma shiver if she were a woman. But obviously, she was not. She was machinery, blessed (or cursed) with the synthetic mind of a thinking, feeling, woman.

 

A woman, who incidentally, had become much too fond of her maker for it to be wise, if one could attribute reason with wisdom.

 

Hux pulled out a tiny screwdriver from his lab coat pocket and started to detach the broken mouth plate. As he did so, he had that deep look of concentration and determination on his fair face that Phasma had catalogued numerous times in her database. It was the expression that she had drawn upon to make dozens of associations, all of which contributed to her fondness of him – the furrow between his brow, the pin-point focus of his silver blue eyes, the way he bit the corner of his bottom lip as he twirled the screwdriver with his lithe fingers.

 

More sensors were engaged without Hux being aware, though being her maker, he must have known they could be employed at any given moment. Phasma could detect that his face was damp. Lacrimal glands had been active. Hux had been crying at some point prior to her arrival.

 

Because she was allowed far more personal intimacy than any of Hux’s other creations, Phasma knew it would not be too forward to say, “You’re upset.” And because her fondness of him had sometimes driven her to perform actions outside of optimal judiciousness, she cupped his cheek with her metal fingers in a gesture that she’d learned signified caring amongst humans.

 

Hux flinched. For a second, Phasma regretted this action. But then Hux took her hand and curled his fingers around it. “Fuck, you’re cold,” he hissed, not in a cruel way. His blue eyes met the focused optical lenses on her face and held her unmoving gaze. “I forget how cold it is in space,” he said distantly, still holding onto her hand. “No wonder why you’re so sluggish.”

 

“Not to be rude, sir, but it probably would have been a good idea to install thermal generators,” she offered, with just a hint of sarcasm, hoping to rouse Hux out of his distracted haze.

 

“That’ll be a feature of Phasma 5.0,” he said with the slightest of smirks playing at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Oh?” she said curiously, quickly scanning her database for any mention of her next version having thermal generators. She came up with nothing and determined that this was a recent development and/or one Hux had not bothered to share with her. Either way, Hux’s choice to be reticent with information about 5.0 showed a disregard for Phasma. This worried her greatly, almost more so than the way her maker’s current state of ennui had concerned her. Hux always kept Phasma a-breast of his work, especially his work on her.   If Hux had been developing 5.0 without her, perhaps he had no intention of keeping her. Deactivation was a fate akin to death – no, _execution_.

 

Hux’s smirk widened to a knowing grin. “No need to get your proverbial knickers in a twist, Phasma. You’ll be fully installed in Phasma 5.0.” He symbolically knocked on the side of her head, over the part analogous to where a human brain would be, though her processors were in fact positioned in various locations throughout her body. “Your software is much too perfect to waste.”

 

If Phasma could blush…

 

“You’ll have an ultra-flexible silicone-based shell, impregnated with multi-sensory receptors and those nifty thermal generators,” he said. His eyes seemed to go wild in that bright way they often did when he was developing something big – something brilliant – something with potential to impact the world.

 

“Oh?” she said again, exactly the same way she’d said it before, like a sample recording being played back.

 

He rested his hand on her face and caressed the dented metal with his thumb. “You’ll have skin, Phasma,” he said, in a sensual whisper.

 

She did not know what to do with this information, nor did she know how to process the way Hux was touching her almost lovingly. Actually, she _did_ know how to process it, but found the path this thought was taking to be most imprudent. Phasma liked it a little too much. All of it. The touching. The idea of skin. The idea of Hux touching her skin with his skin.

 

“What is the purpose of me having skin?” she asked, quite clinically, despite the concurrent thought process excitedly whirling around her circuitry.

 

“I know where I went wrong with Project Stormtrooper. An advanced civilization will not bow down to machines. It will acquiesce to a face.”

 

When Hux spoke, he did so with a quiet sort of resolve. He was so sure of himself. So sure that his next development project would succeed that Phasma no longer worried about his emotional wellbeing. His period of mourning was over. Phasma liked to believe that her return from Lambda 7 had given Hux hope – perhaps a reason to keep trying. If Phasma was to conquer a planet wearing, not a chrome helmet, but a human face, she would proudly charge into battle for him.

 

“Shall I continue debriefing you, sir?” Phasma asked.

 

Hux pressed a single fingertip to a touch sensor indistinguishable from the rest of the chest plate of Phasma’s chrome body. A seam appeared. Out of the seam came forth a narrow panel. Hux brought up his wrist to the panel and held his mobile com-link wristlet close to the panel for three seconds until the device beeped pleasantly.

 

“No need,” said Hux as his fingers moved swiftly over the holo screen emanating from the chrome wristlet. I’ve copied your memory of the events for later viewing.”

 

“Is that wise, sir? Might the security of the program be compromised?” she asked, concerned that Hux’s deviation from protocol for convenience’s sake was reckless.

 

“It’s not on the data cloud. I downloaded it directly to my mobile via encrypted transfer,” he explained, still focused on typing and swiping over the holo screen. Then he added with thinly veiled irritation, “But thank you for questioning me, Phasma. It’s good to know that somebody is _always_ looking over my shoulder, making sure I follow the rules.”

 

Phasma knew why Hux had been annoyed. He was the sort of person that followed the rules like gospel. For the most part, his work had gone on relatively unmonitored as of late because he had historically been such a stickler for company policy. Though the government had been breathing heavily down the back of his neck, Snoke Industries’ legal team ensured Hux’s work could continue unencumbered by bothersome New Republic regulations. The last thing he needed was his own droid getting nit-picky.

 

Phasma stood looking comically slack-jawed without the grill over her mouthpiece, ironically silent despite the open appearance of her mouth. Better to remain silent and await further instruction rather than putting her foot in said gaping mouth.

 

“You’re dismissed. Report to maintenance for repair. You’re a mess,” he muttered, still annoyed.

 

Phasma turned and walked away, feeling something akin to being dejected. She wondered if she would ever catalogue enough of Hux’s behavior to be able to fully understand this man, who could be so tender in one breath and so cruel in the next.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rectifier is a nod to TRON: Legacy. I listened to that soundtrack often while writing PF.


	2. Chapter 2

The figure that emerged from a utility closet on the lowest sublevel of the Presidential Tower was not what he seemed. He wore a black helmet equipped with a built-in respirator mask, indicative of a surface worker – those lowly folk who earned measly pay to toil amongst the pollution and human detritus in the dark service alleyways between skyscrapers. One couldn’t breathe on the surface for very long without a respirator – not without risking chemical burns inside one’s lungs, oxygen deprivation, or gagging from the stench of human waste.

 

The figure flipped up the hood of his black sweatshirt and donned an orange safety vest before slipping out of the building – casually dragging his feet as if the drudgery of maintenance work were weighing him down. But in reality, he wanted to run. He wanted to dash out the door and keep going, racing towards the edge of the city where cavernous concrete kept out the poisoned sea and the vagrants that persisted outside of society.

 

He kept to his slow, miserable tread until he was sure he had cleared the service corridors and was safely away from any maintenance workers passing by. He turned the corner into a dim alley that looked like any other alley, except for the fact that it was not lined with the gloomy glow of sulfur yellow safety lights. The only source of illumination was the fluorescent light spilling down from the towers above, which wasn’t much, being that this was day five of a government enforced energy conservation week.

 

By now his gait had turned into a swift prowl. His black boots pounded the grimy concrete beneath him in a wide, confident stride. He yanked off the orange vest and stashed it in his back pocket like it was a gang-sign bandana – only there was no gang in existence outside the city walls flaunting the color Safety Orange.

 

As it were, a member of one of said gangs was standing at the end of the alley. His nose and mouth were covered with a dingy scarf checkered with his gang’s green and silver colors, providing a makeshift barrier against the pollution – the mark of a low ranking member, for only the higher ups had resources for respirators. He wore a scuffed pair of sunglasses to protect his eyes, and wielded an ancient Glock to protect his body.

 

The figure in the black helmet laughed. The respirator rendered the sound of it into something more evil and sinister than it was. He pulled out a gleaming, white blaster pistol from the back of his black denims. Neither party aimed their weapons. They merely put their illegal firearms on display.

 

And as further reassurance, the black, hooded figure joked, “Now that we’ve both got our dicks out, can we cut the bullshit?”

 

He swore with the ironic lilt of a distinctly aristocratic accent. He knew he’d never sound as threatening as his current companion speaking the same words. But it hardly mattered. Currency spoke louder than any string of dirty street colloquialisms.

 

These days, resources exchanged hands more often than cash, and were thus the most common form of currency. Ben Solo, the young man in the mask, had a lot of it – liquid assets and connections to the powers-that-be who held those resources close. Most of these back-alley transactions involved the peddling of drugs. Not the recreational sort – gangs had that in droves. It was the sort that sustained life that were in high demand – capsules that allowed people to breathe the polluted air without gasping for oxygen, pills that suppressed radiation sickness or altitude sickness, high-potency vitamin tablets to supplement the piss poor diet of engineered food.

 

“Can’t be too careful these days, Princess,” Ben’s companion drawled. “Even sanitation shit-slingers are packing heat.” The slow, low-oxygen roll of his street accent made Ben’s cock twitch in his jeans. Nothing was more exciting than slumming it.

 

“Keep calling me Princess, and you’ll feel the heat of my blaster through that pretty, blonde head of yours,” Ben threatened, though his delivery bore no malice. And that’s what made him frightening – Ben rarely raised his voice or showed any warning signs before launching swiftly into violence. Those that dealt with him knew all too well what a loose canon Ben could be.

 

“Isn’t that what you are, though? Royalty?” Ben’s companion challenged brazenly. Even though Ben couldn’t see his face, he knew the kid was smirking.

 

“Do you want it, or not?” Ben asked, losing patience.

 

“I always want it,” drawled Ben’s companion as he stepped close and fell to his knees. He stashed his sunglasses in his pocket and gazed up at Ben with eyes so startlingly blue that it made Ben’s heart hurt – such beauty shouldn’t have to remain in the gutter. This was the cruelty of their reality in the shithole capital of Cloud City, on the shittiest of gleaming, glass shit piles called The North American Confederation, of which his mother happened to be President.

 

He’d dealt with Blue Eyes before. It had been a while. He had to settle for less-than ideal envoys from the green and silver gang in previous transactions. Ben was pleased that Blue Eyes was back. Ben liked his mouth the best.

 

The kid had always claimed to be eighteen, but he’d been giving the same lie for two years now. Not that it mattered. Ben was nineteen – barely old enough to be held accountable for corrupting a minor, not that he’d ever be held accountable for anything.

 

Blue Eyes lowered the scarf to reveal the entirety of his face. It was the prettiest face that Ben had ever fucked, and the little cocksucker knew it. He took his time dragging his tongue along the length of Ben’s erection, despite the toxic air.

 

The gangs that lived outside the city had developed a minor amount of biological tolerance for the polluted atmosphere, but it still wasn’t easy to breathe, let alone take a formidable cock down one’s throat. Blue Eyes had a technique down like a science. Ben didn’t care how many dicks the kid had to suck to perfect low-oxygen fellatio. He just wanted to come. He tangled his fingers into dingy, blond curls and thrust with a controlled, slow rhythm, wanting to draw out every second of hot, wet bliss.

 

Blue Eyes snapped his head back and wheezed, “I need it. Need it now.” Ben could see faint red lines streaking through the whites of his companion’s eyes.

 

He opened his hoodie and took an inhaler pump out of a zippered compartment in his shirt. He gave Blue Eyes a few puffs of nebulized medication, which provided desperately needed oxygen. Blue Eyes inhaled deeply, sucking every molecule of bitter vapor with blissful relish as he reached into his jeans to fist his own burgeoning erection.

 

“Finish up now, Blue Eyes, and you’ll get the whole stash,” Ben instructed patronizingly.

 

“Can I see your face?” he asked, typically presumptuous.

 

Ben scoffed haughtily, “Go fuck yourself.”

 

Blue Eyes shrugged with equally cocky arrogance. “I’ve seen the news. I know what you look like under that mask.” Then he added with a smirk, “You’re kind of hot,” before swirling his tongue around the reddened head of Ben’s aching need.

 

Ben moaned inside his respirator. It came out sounding like a sensual growl. For a moment of intense pleasure, Ben relented. He relented because there was no other pleasure to be had that was unadulterated by the government or the corporations. This was joy in its purest, basest, most primal form.

 

A quiet hiss emitted from the respirator when he disengaged the mask from the helmet. He removed the whole unit, freeing himself from the sweaty confines of machinery and poly-carbon protection.

 

Blue Eyes smirked devilishly and used the entirety of his mouth to show just how pleased he was to gaze upon President Leia Organa’s precious son.

 

“You’ll kiss me. After I come in your mouth,” Ben declared with calm entitlement.

 

Blue Eyes purred wantonly around the formidable length of spit-slicked flesh poised at his lips. “You are so fucked, Princess.”

 

Ben tilted his head curiously, unsure of what the boy meant.

 

It became all too startlingly clear in a fraction of a second.

 

The end of a blaster pistol, very much like his own, was pointing at Ben’s temple.

 

“Hands up. Don’t make any fast moves or I’ll disfigure you in a most unfortunate manner.” The voice came from the side. It was a gruff, male voice he’d never heard before – definitely not a gangster, judging from the accent.

 

A dark cloth of some sort covered Ben’s head and an alarming number of hands were on him. He struggled to free himself, but the hands were stronger. This was not a back-alley stick up. Ben knew this was not how the gangs rolled. This was far worse.

 

His assailants didn’t want the bag of oxygen capsules in his shirt – not to trade on the black market, and not to confiscate as evidence of illegal peddling. They wanted something far more valuable than medication, which was saying a lot, considering medical supplies were like gold.

 

They wanted Ben. Alive. His life could be traded like the drugs that he’d been dealing since he was sixteen, but the exchange would not be sex for medication. This transaction would be bigger. The thought of it excited Ben, who couldn’t even be arsed to care anymore that he was being kidnapped.

 

He couldn’t have hoped for a more interesting end to a dreary, monotonous day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first line is an homage of sorts to the novelization of The Force Awakens. Subtle nod to Matt the Radar technician slipped in. The Green and Silver gang are obviously Slytherins, and Blue Eyes is obviously a Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

The processed noodles in the plastic bowl resting on Hux’s lap had gone cold. The metal chopsticks wedged between his fingers hadn’t moved for the better half of a minute, dangling wet noodles in the air, their ascent towards Hux’s mouth paused indefinitely.

 

Hux stared at the high definition projection on his living room wall with wide eyes that threatened to spill tears. He’d cried more over the past two weeks than he had his entire life, which might have said more about recent events than Hux’s emotional state. He dropped the utensils into the bowl, disregarding the resultant splatter of soy sauce (really, it was more chemical than soy or sauce) on his bleached, white tee shirt. He distractedly set the bowl on the coffee table, inadvertently sloshing sauce over the sleek, black, onyx-like surface, into which the spill disappeared – sucked through invisible pores. _Another Useful Technological Advancement Brought To You By Snoke Industries._

 

The same corporation that made the self-cleaning surfaces throughout his flat had manufactured the droids that Hux was currently watching being cut down. He’d been watching Phasma’s memory download of the battle on Lambda 7. Even in high-speed playback, it was difficult to watch his Stormtroopers being reduced to ash in mere minutes. He watched perfect, white panels of poly-carbon shell exploding in an epic display of mass destruction. Chips of white plastic fell like snow in the fallout as landmines had been detonated, one after the other.

 

If these had been human soldiers, the squad would have likely pulled out after one or two landmines had been tripped. But the Stormtroopers were programmed without fear and without any sense of self-preservation. And so they fell. All two- _fucking_ -thousand of them.

 

It was too much to process. Seven years of research, development, testing, and production of technology had failed upon application.   Seven years of Hux’s life had culminated in massive failure. It was as if a house of cards that Hux had taken seven years to build had been blown down. But those seven years were not wasted.   He would start again. He’d build upon the seven-year foundation and make his Stormtroopers better. He’d learn from his failure.

 

All the questions that had been whirling around in his head since that fateful intergalactic transmission, were now organizing themselves into a structured hierarchy within Hux’s problem-solving mind. He’d cry, but goddamn it, he’d figure this out while crying. He wouldn’t remain idle and depressed with a bottle of chemically engineered vodka for another night.

 

He replayed various sections of memories and furiously typed notes into his tablet. He exchanged numerous communications with Phasma, asking her for clarification of specific details which he could not decipher from the recordings. He worked until the small hours of the night.

 

It was two in the morning, and Hux’s mind was still racing. He shed his trousers and slipped into bed, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He put on his holo glasses and lied down to watch earlier recordings of Phasma’s experience on Lambda 7. Under his synthetic fiber bedcovers, with a picture glowing directly in front of his eyes like virtual reality, Hux felt an odd sense of _taboo._ This was the way he watched private material, not meant for consumption in public – material he kept secret.

 

And in a way, this footage was akin to pornography. All images and reports of Lambda 7 were strictly classified by order of The New Republic. The government didn’t want to get the citizen’s hopes up, nor did they want to give them a reason to revolt. Not to mention, Snoke Industries wasn’t even supposed to be launching an attack on Lambda 7, thus any evidence of such attack had to be kept top secret. So Phasma’s recorded memories were in fact _taboo_ viewing material.

 

He watched at normal speed now. Watched, through Phasma’s optics, as The Rectifier approached a beautiful glowing orb of lush green and vibrant blue. He watched the natural wonders of Lambda 7 blossoming before the window of The Rectifier’s control bridge – the verdant mountains spilling vegetation and white water down their gentle slopes. Colorful winged creatures dotting the sky, which stretched like a canvas of warm-toned watercolors. He’d never seen nature first hand, and it saddened him. He couldn’t help but feel overcome with desperate yearning. How lucky of Phasma to have experienced this. He wondered if she was capable of appreciating it.

 

One wouldn’t even know at first glance that the planet hosted a technologically sophisticated civilization. Their buildings blended seamlessly into their surroundings. Hux wondered how they managed to engineer them this way, wondered what energy sources they utilized. If humans couldn’t manage to colonize Lambda 7 without getting slaughtered, Hux thought he might like to at least study their technology, perhaps remotely.

 

But upon further introspection, he thought that was bullshit. The inhabitants on Lambda 7 shouldn’t be able to hoard all of this beauty and wonder, not when another civilization was advanced enough to reach it from another galaxy. Humans were entitled to Lambda 7 – fuck, they _deserved_ it after reaching so far out of their own sphere to attain it. It was a matter of survival of the fittest and the most technologically equipped to kill the other.

 

The thought of conquest filled him with determination and drive. It incidentally made Hux very hard in his boxer briefs.

 

He switched off the Lambda 7 footage in favor of his go-to pornographic holos. These were videos of scenarios so far outside of Hux’s own experiences that he wouldn’t even want to bring these fantasies into his reality. They were just too ridiculous to carry out in real life: A dominant Daddy in a three-piece suit spanking his subservient slave boy before riding his smooth, twink ass. An unrepentant male cockslut taking three dicks at once in two orifices. Young men fucking over the sinks in a public restroom, escalating into an all-out orgy as more and more men enter. A poor, unsuspecting lad kidnapped and intricately tied to a dingy bed in the sublevels of a tower as his captors use him as a fucktoy.

 

Hux particularly liked that last one. It had always been the holo to bring on his release. He thrust his cock into his lube-slicked fist as he watched the captors taking turns with the young man, each one adding their mess to the previous one made on his blissed-out face. Blissed-out, because in this particularly unrealistic scenario, the captive quickly gave in to his fate and let himself enjoy being exploited.

 

Just as Hux was nearing the peak of his escalating pleasure, as pressure had built up in his gut and as his balls drew up tightly, he received a direct voice communication from Phasma.

 

“What? Do you? Want?” Hux stuttered in a frustrated, strangled voice.

 

“Is now a bad time, sir?” she asked politely.

 

“Yes. Fuck yes. Oh god,” he panted, not bothering to still the quickening motion of his hand.

 

“Are you quite alright, sir? Are you in need of my assistance?” she asked, concern coloring her voice.

 

Hux inwardly cursed the fact that he had programmed her to be so fucking helpful.

 

“Oh, dear god, don’t put that image in my head,” Hux whined helplessly, “I don’t want to go there. Fuck, I don’t want to. I don’t want to,” he pleaded with himself, much to Phasma’s confusion.

 

But it was to no avail. Hux’s imagination had betrayed him, and he was envisioning himself fucking the smooth, pliant silicone body of a genderless droid. He saw himself plowing the droid’s perfectly sculpted ass over the white, plastic workbenches of his lab.

 

“Sir,” Phasma said in that curt, firm way that reminded him too much of his mother, “I hadn’t asked you yet, but yes, your presence is required.”

 

“Shut up. Just shut up, Phasma,” he growled through gritted teeth as he fisted his cock without regard for the perplexed droid on the other end of the communication transfer. “Give me a…”

 

Hux’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his release hit hard. He spurt voluminously through his fist as he swore through a garbled moan. “ _Fuck…_ ”

 

There was a good minute of silence, punctuated only by Hux’s shallow panting, which slowed with each progressively deepening breath. And then Hux _really_ regretted some of the features he had programmed into Phasma’s artificial intelligence. Humor, being one of them.

 

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” she said in a slight departure from her clinical tone.

 

“What fuck-wad of an intern did you learn that from?” Hux breathed out as he wiped his spunk on a nearby clutch of rough, synthetic tissue paper.

 

She did not answer. Instead, she pointed out, “You’re human, sir. You are entitled to an orgasm once in a while. And to be honest, you were long overdue.”

 

“How in the…?” Hux began to ask, but he knew the answer.

 

Phasma and her goddamn remote bio-sensors. Hux couldn’t keep any secrets from her – she knew every little nuance of his physiological functions, and thus could correlate various levels to determine if Hux had dumped another semen sample into a mass of tissue paper, long after the fact. She could probably figure out if Hux had been having sex if she wanted to. It just so happens that Hux wasn’t having sex. He hadn’t had actual intercourse to completion in years. There was the random drunken blowjob here and there, but not much else. Such is the busy life of a head engineer at Snoke Industries. One doesn’t attain such status at the age of twenty-six without sacrifice.

 

“When you’ve collected yourself, you need to come to the lab, sir. There’s something you need to see.”

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Ben had been kept in the dark with his head covered for what must have been hours. From the vibrations and the shifting momentum, he knew he was in a transport of some sort. He was not in a seat, but on the floor of what might have been a cargo compartment. His wrists and ankles were bound with electro magnetic cuffs – devices of restraint that he was all too familiar with, having been picked up by police several times over his career of juvenile delinquency.

 

But he’d never been held this long before, and never like this. Being President Organa’s son afforded him quite a bit of slack in the judicial system, so he’d never spent more than an hour in a temporary holding cell.

 

In the absence of stimulation, time passed agonizingly slow, and any bit of discomfort was amplified to unbearable levels. Ben’s jeans were still open and hanging loosely around his hips. Although his captors had been kind enough to stuff his dick back into his pants for him, he still felt exposed. He wasn’t hungry, but his body was persistently reminding him that it had been a long time since he’d eaten dinner. His rear end hurt from being jostled about a metal floor, and his extremities were starting to get _pins-and-needles_ from being forced into the same position for so long.

 

It became very cold in the transport. _Pins-and-needles_ evolved into numbness. He was shivering. His nose was running and he couldn’t wipe it without getting it on the inside of the cloth covering his head. He had to pee like it was nobody’s business. This whole adventure was really starting to suck, he thought in a bout of boredom-induced juvenile regression. Being kidnapped was proving to be much less exciting than Ben had hoped.

 

And now he was beginning to worry. Why were they traveling so far? Had anyone back at the Presidential Tower realized that he was missing? Was anyone looking for him? Where the fuck were they taking him to? Elbrus?

 

Ben was just being petulant in his speculation, but in fact, he _was_ being taken to Elbrus. When the transport stopped, one of his captors pulled him up to a standing position and draped a coat over his shoulders.

 

“Giving me your coat? What a gentleman,” Ben joked.

 

“I’d rather you not die in transport. And it’s only going to get colder when we reach Arkanis.” The voice that answered back was colder than the air and vaguely female - It could have gone either way, really.

 

 

Elbrus was a fortress of ice and snow, nestled in the remote mountains of the Europa Federation. Out of Elbrus, Arkanis was built – a massive industrial complex of corporately owned and occupied edifices that managed to operate with some level of autonomy separate from the municipality of Elbrus. Arkanis had earned the nickname Refrigerator of Invention owing to all the R & D facilities there, far from the meddling fingers of government. Nobody lived in Arkanis. Once the workday was done, its population emptied into the towers of Elbrus that jutted out of the ragged, snow-covered mountains.  

 

 

“Perhaps my chances of dying would be greatly reduced if you’d move me to a heated compartment,” Ben suggested, unable to keep the impertinence out of his tone.

 

There was silence and stillness, and for a moment, Ben thought his captor was going to relent. But instead, they remarked quite clinically, “Your temperature is at an acceptable ninety-eight point four degrees Fahrenheit. Based on my projections of the ambient temperature ascending into Arkanis, your core body temperature should only decrease by, at most, a tenth of a degree with proper outerwear – that coat is made of hyper-insulated poly-carbon fiber and should suitably maintain your temperature.”

 

Ben wondered if his captor was some sort of medical tech. He had initially suspected that his captors worked for one of the pharmaceutical corporations, and that this stunt was a scare tactic to keep him from trafficking their drugs illegally. But the fact that they were in Elbrus made Ben doubt his suspicions.

 

“This type of fabric doesn’t breathe much,” Ben dead-panned, not really concerned, “Pardon me if I sweat in your coat.”

 

“Keep the coat. You’ll be here for a while,” said the voice in a way that was oddly amicable, giving him the false sense of being a guest and not a captive.

 

 

When Ben finally saw light again, it was inside what he presumed was a tech lab, with its arrangement of white workstations strewn with bits of electronics in various states of assembly, or disassembly. He immediately understood why he was taken there. Research and development labs were probably the most safeguarded facilities on Earth, with their proprietary creations locked behind several levels of security. Not even a maximum-security prison compared.

 

His captors had somehow slipped away without him ever seeing them, like silent phantom ninjas. And when he insisted that he desperately needed a bathroom, there was nobody there to answer him.

 

Ben stopped panicking for a moment to make note of the fact that he was strapped to an office chair that had been magnetically affixed to the floor. His wrists were cuffed to the armrests.

 

He faintly wondered if he could short circuit the electro magnetic floor by pissing on it. He certainly had a fair amount stored in his bladder by this point. Of course, he’d have to wet his pants in order to do that, and he had yet to reach that level of desperation – both for relief of his bladder, and release from captivity. And even if he could move the chair off the floor, he’d still be strapped to it.

 

Along the wall of the room were docking bay stations for droids. Some of the droids looked like ancient relics of boxy metal. Others looked like nascent technology in an early developmental stage. Some of the robots were comprised of skeletal mechanics, while others had proper bodies. Ben was pretty sure the droid at the end was a _sex-bot_ , and he snorted at this speculation – there was a joke to be made about tech nerds needing to get laid, but Ben was too exhausted from his ordeal to put it into proper words.

 

A silver, humanistic droid, which seemed to be heavily armored with chrome from helmet to boots, stepped into a docking bay. It appeared to be recharging itself or powering down or whatever it is that droids do akin to sleeping.

 

“Hey,” he called out to the droid. “What is this place?” The droid ignored him so categorically that he wondered if it was even programmed to react.

 

It was unsettling to be watched by several sets of dead, unmoving, nonreactive, robotic eyes. As far as he could tell, they were the only things potentially watching him. Tech R & D labs notoriously had no surveillance cameras on the inside, lest somebody hack into the feed and steal designs. He felt miserably isolated and frightfully alone.

 

He’d reached the point of not being able to think about anything but the urgent need to relieve his bladder. And just when he thought he really might piss himself, the pneumatic doors to the lab hissed open. A rumpled, lanky fellow with messy ginger hair rushed in. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. His white tee shirt was stained with something inky, and his trousers were wrinkled. He took a lab coat off of a hook near the door and threw it on as if he were reporting for work. But maybe he just wanted to look presentable. Or maybe it was force of habit.

 

“Phasma, this better be important,” the man said, distinctly annoyed. He had the accent of one born and raised in the Europa Federation – slightly nasal and curt.

 

The silver droid that had ignored Ben earlier released itself from the docking bay and approached the man. “Good morning to you too, sir,” the droid said with a pleasant female voice tinged with sarcasm. Ben snorted to himself. He liked the droid’s snark.

 

“It’s three in the bloody morning. I haven’t slept. I haven’t showered. I’m supposed to be off today,” the man complained. “And to make matters worse, I--,” the man stopped mid sentence and focused his attention to Ben, who was watching quietly. A deep furrow formed between the man’s ginger eyebrows. “What. The fuck. Is _that_?” He gestured at Ben disdainfully.

 

“I’m not sure, sir,” said the droid, which Ben now understood was named Phasma. “I was returning from maintenance and saw him there as I was preparing to power down. I thought it was important to inform you immediately.”

 

The man’s eyes narrowed as they flit between the droid and Ben. “You couldn’t just tell me over com-link that there was a strange kid tied up in my lab? Did I really have to get out of bed for this?”

 

The droid did not apologize. “As I understood it, despite what protocol dictates, you prefer to personally deal with any security breech of your lab to avoid the inconvenience of a facility-wide lockdown.”

 

“Right, but this isn’t some dumb-arse intern who forgot to punch out before opening the door,” the man said, clearly irate. He approached Ben swiftly and demanded in quick succession, “Who are you? How did you get in here? Why did you attach yourself to my chair?”

 

“I can answer one of those questions with certainty, but I will only do so after I’ve been permitted to use the bathroom,” said Ben, sounding very reasonable.

 

“Erm, _no_ ,” the man remarked with a humorless chuckle. “I need answers first. You’re inside _my_ lab, which is a Security Clearance Level 9 facility.”

 

Ben replied, irreverent because he couldn’t help himself, “Is your bathroom also a Security Clearance Level 9 facility? If so, I may have to evacuate the contents of my bladder in your lovely chair, and something tells me, despite your unkempt outward appearance, that you wouldn’t appreciate that.”

 

The man became severely flustered. His deathly-pale cheeks, which had probably not seen the sun in years, turned a deep shade of pink above the ginger stubble. “You’ve got some nerve,” he bristled as he hastily smoothed down his hair and buttoned up his lab coat, which made Ben wonder if this man’s disheveled appearance was quite a departure from his usual.

 

Ben squinted at the laminated badge clipped to the white lab coat. It bore the iconic hexagonal red and black logo of Snoke Industries. Beneath it, was a name.

 

Ben raised a brow curiously. “B. Hux. _You’re_ Doctor Brendol Hux? Somehow I imagined you’d be a shriveled up old man, and not…,” Ben trailed off, finishing his sentence only in his head. This _B. Hux_ person was rather cute in the pitiful, endearing way that Ben had decided sex-deprived young men in the tech industry sometimes were.

 

“Doctor Brendol Hux is my father,” he cut in before Ben had to complete his thought out loud. “I’m not the famous surgeon who developed the neural implant that treats Alzheimer’s disease.” He rolled his eyes as he said this with the enthusiasm of one who had spoken the words more times than he would have liked. “I’m just the Hux who is head engineer of the Robotics Development Program of Snoke Industries.” He shrugged his shoulders and added with feigned glibness, “You know. No big deal.”

 

Ben intimately understood what it was like to live in the shadow of a powerful and famous parent.

 

“That’s great Hux. I’m Ben,” he rushed through his introduction with mounting urgency, “Now, if I may. Your bathroom, please?”

 

“Through the black glass doors,” he gestured with a tilt of his ginger head. “Where’d you hide the mag key for your cuffs?”

 

Ben looked at Hux as if he were remarkably stupid, which he knew Hux could not have been with the distinction of being head engineer. “You think I put myself in this position?”

 

“Are you not one of those university hippie protesters?” Hux speculated with a great deal of unbridled disdain, “Are you chaining yourself to my workstation until Snoke Industries ensures humane treatment of droids or some bullshit?”

 

“I was kidnapped, you arrogant fuck,” Ben remarked in an even tone, despite his strong words. “Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you know who my mother is?”

 

Hux’s eyes narrowed skeptically, and then suddenly widened. He covered his mouth with his hand, gasped loudly behind it, and took several steps back as if realizing Ben was radioactive. He turned his attention and addressed his panic to the droid, “Phasma, why the _fuck_ is President Organa’s brat locked up in my lab?”

 

Before the droid could answer, not that Ben thought it could with any accuracy, the pneumatic door hissed open again, startling Hux. “I had nothing to do with it, Mitaka,” Hux insisted as another young man, this one properly dressed in a black suit, entered the lab wielding a holo tablet.

 

“I know, Hux,” the man reassured Hux with a calming gesture of his hand. “I apologize for the inconvenience. But I’m here under direct orders from Snoke to ask you to vacate your facilities.”

 

He didn’t make eye contact with anybody as he spoke in a nervous, tight voice. Ben wondered if this _Mitaka_ fellow had some sort of social anxiety disorder, or just felt miserably awkward.

 

Hux gave a resentful, acquiescent sigh and didn’t question Mitaka’s request. It didn’t surprise Ben. He knew these corporations held their employees by the balls.

 

“Hey, I’m about to vacate my bladder in your facilities,” Ben reminded whoever would listen.

 

Mitaka glanced up briefly at the nearby droid and bashfully asked, “Phasma, would you please accompany our guest to the lavatory?” He handed the droid a magnetic key fob, then regarded Ben with slightly more eye contact than he had afforded Hux. “I apologize if your transport and subsequent detention were uncomfortable.”

 

Ben rejected Mitaka’s apology with a middle finger as soon as the droid unlocked the cuffs.

 

Ben had hoped that the robot would not take Mitaka’s commands quite so literally. He was not so lucky. The droid stood beside him, emotionless and unblinking, disregarding Ben’s right to privacy or personal space, as it watched him take the longest piss of his young life.

 

“I’m fascinating, I know,” Ben drawled. “Have you never seen a human perform this biological function before?”

 

“Not like that, sir,” the droid remarked. “If I may use the archaic adage, _like a race horse_.”

 

Despite the robot’s dryness, Ben laughed wryly. “You’re funny. But you need to work on your delivery.”

 

“Hux quite likes my humor to be subtle,” the droid said.

 

“And you do whatever Hux likes, hm?” Ben remarked with a sly grin, knowing that the insinuation in his voice would be lost on the robot.

 

“I am equipped with the most sophisticated form of adaptive artificial intelligence,” the droid said, almost proudly, “I learn what pleases Hux and react accordingly.”

 

“I’ll bet,” Ben replied with lascivious connotations that the droid was still not picking up on.

Or so he thought.

 

“I’m not a pleasure droid, if that’s what you’re getting at,” the robot said with that same, dry humor, “Though I can’t speak for you and what unusual predilections you may have, I find that humans typically do not derive physical enjoyment from metal.”

 

Ben didn’t know droids could be such fun conversationalists. If he was a prisoner of Snoke Industries, he might as well enjoy himself while he could. “I’m sure there’s somebody out there who likes having sex with metal objects.”

 

 

When he and the droid returned to the lab, Hux was still there, talking to Mitaka in hushed tones.

 

“If you didn’t want to see me again, you could’ve just said so,” said Mitaka, speaking casually, yet still in the same nervous manner. “I would’ve understood. You didn’t have to say you’d com-link me.”

 

Hux scoffed, his voice nearly a whisper when he realized Ben and Phasma had returned, “I com-linked you and left a voice message. A text message too. _You’re_ the one that blew me off.”

 

Mitaka appeared confused, but didn’t look up to meet Hux’s eyes. “I never heard from you after the company gala. Not a single bleep.”

 

Hux crossed his arms over his chest and insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “Well, I did try to contact you.”

 

“Let’s just forget it,” Mitaka said with a sigh that was both dejected and resigned, “It’s improper anyway. We technically work together.”

 

“Mitaka is quite right, sir,” Phasma interjected, “Though it is not explicitly against the company code of conduct, interdepartmental dating could bring about suspicion of nepotism.”

 

Hux pierced the droid with a withering look that said he did not appreciate its intervention or its candor.

 

Ben snorted, amused at the drama that was playing out before him. “This is why tech nerds don’t have more sex. You can’t do anything without going through the proper channels.”

 

Both Hux and Mitaka blushed and looked equally indignant. They were perfect for each other. For a brief moment, Ben thought about the sort of bumbling, awkward sex these two would have and it made him inwardly giggle.

 

Mitaka collected himself and regarded Hux apologetically. “I’ll let you know when you can regain access to your lab, but at the moment, your entry code is disabled. And we’ll need to keep Phasma here, if you don’t mind.”

 

Hux shrugged, resigned but still terribly inconvenienced. “Whatever. I’ll be home. Phasma, don’t let him break anything.”

 

“I assure you, Hux, we won’t disturb anything,” said Mitaka, “We simply need the security of your space.”

 

“Yeah, have fun with that,” Hux said sardonically, gesturing his chin towards Ben before leaving through the pneumatic doors.

 

Once Mitaka was alone with Ben, his tone changed. He seemed much more relaxed outside of Hux’s presence. “Again, I’m sorry for any trauma we may have caused you, sir.”

 

Ben replied with mocking politeness, “You can take your empty apologies and shove them up your ass.” He smiled tightly. “It’ll probably be a better sexual experience than the one you could’ve had with your ginger ex-boyfriend.”

 

Mitaka cleared his throat nervously and straightened his tie. “Hux isn’t my… well, that’s besides the point and quite frankly none of your business. What you are probably more concerned with is why you’re here.”

 

Ben kept smiling calmly despite feeling indignant about the whole thing. “I’m your guest. Can I get the full tour? A stock option pitch at the end?” He wasn’t going to make things easy.

 

Mitaka continued, despite looking quite frazzled. “I won’t sugar coat it. You are leverage. And though we mean you no physical or emotional harm, it is imperative that you comply, or I will be forced to put the cuffs back on.”

 

“You really need to work on your threats. I’m really not fazed,” said Ben, flippantly.

 

“I’m not threatening you. The fact of the matter is you’re not going anywhere until the current situation is resolved. And in case you were not aware, your father has done something which greatly displeases us all at Snoke Industries.”

 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Of course. It figures this would be about my dad.”

 

 

Ben hadn’t seen Han Solo in years. Though Han and Ben’s mother were still technically married, they were not together. Han hadn’t been a father to Ben in a very long time. And as such, Ben bore little, if any, sentiment for his dad.

 

A long time ago, Han was a general in the New Republic army. But after the demilitarization, Han lost his purpose. He went rogue and became a smuggler, stealing resources from the corporations and trading to those with limited access, not unlike what Ben was doing. But while Ben was trading something as relatively innocuous as medical supplies, his father was trading something more volatile.

 

 

Mitaka divulged, “Han Solo has not only stolen one of our galactic probe ships and left Earth, he has taken with him a veritable armory.”

 

“I thought Snoke ceased production of heavy artillery since demilitarization,” said Ben, not trying very hard to feign ignorance.

 

Though Snoke continued to make non-lethal arms for the purpose of peace-keeping, many suspected that they continued to develop and produce weapons in secret.

 

“It’s old stock,” Mitaka said, clearly feeding Ben the company line from the way his voice cracked, “But lord knows what Han Solo is planning to do with it.”

 

“I see. My dad stole your weapons. You can’t just ask for the government’s help to get them back because you aren’t supposed to have those weapons in the first place. And you need me as leverage to get them to help you.”

 

“You’re very smart, Ben,” said Mitaka, inadvertently patronizing, “And as such, I know you’ll do the right thing.”

 

Ben crossed his arms and looked petulant. He didn’t like being spoken to as if he were a child, but could not help acting like one at times. “Which is?”

 

“We need you to be patient while we negotiate with your mother and retrieve our stolen property. We’d like to keep this as peaceful as possible. We want your detention to be a comfortable one.”

 

“And if I resist?” Ben challenged with a raised eyebrow.

 

Mitaka swallowed hard before answering meekly. “Well, that’s what Phasma is here for.”

 

The droid, who had been inactive and silent during this whole conversation, chimed in. “I told you I wasn’t a pleasure droid,” said the robot, ominously. And as the droid approached, towering over him menacingly like a metal warrior, Ben felt truly afraid for the first time since his capture.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“How do you know that I’m not going to take detailed mental notes about the technology in your lab and sell the information to your competitors?” Ben asked, rotating slowly in a swivel chair on the opposite side of Hux’s workstation, twirling a tangle of discarded ceramic induction wire as if it were a toy.

 

Hux did not deign to divert his attention from his holo screen and continued typing on the keyboard that was built into the workstation. This was day four of babysitting the little shit that was President Organa’s nineteen-year-old son, and the kid was grating on his last nerve in the robotics lab. He faintly wondered if he would still have been burdened with Ben had he made more of an effort to connect with Mitaka after the company gala a few months ago. Or maybe it was _because_ of that alcohol-fueled men’s room blowjob at the gala that Mitaka knew he could trust Hux with such a highly secretive task.

 

“I have a photographic memory,” said Ben, still trying uselessly to grab Hux’s attention. When Hux continued to ignore him, Ben added, perhaps as an outlandish non sequitur to determine if Hux was even listening, “And a twelve-inch cock.”

 

“That’s great,” Hux said distantly, just to acknowledge that Ben had spoken in hopes that it would make him shut up.

 

“I also have an undescended testicle. And I can kill a man with two fingers. Because, you know, it’s a lot easier to kill a man if he’s already lost eight digits.” Ben was spouting utter nonsense. Hux now understood that Ben wasn’t going to stop until Hux was fully engaged in the conversation. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

 

Hux huffed, annoyed, and snapped his head up to look directly at the boy. “You have grotesque genital malformations, heightened acute memory retention, and no qualms about taking advantage of the physically challenged nor stealing proprietary information.”

 

Ben smirked. “You _are_ paying attention,” he drawled, “Very good, Hux.”

 

“You could attempt to sell the information which you’ve somehow managed to glean from this mess, but you’d be, in essence, trying to sell to these companies their own information,” Hux said. “This is the reverse engineering lab. It is but one of my many laboratories here.”

 

Ben raised one of his thick, dark eyebrows. “Oh, I see. So I am trying to steal stolen information.” He gestured to the wall of droid docking bays. “I take it none of those droids are _Another Useful_ _Technological Advancement Brought To You By Snoke Industries_.”

 

Hux shrugged, unfazed by the misinformed accusations at which Ben was hinting. “We aren’t trying to copy others’ technology. We are simply studying elements of their designs and applying them in novel ways to improve our own technology. I mean wasn’t it obvious? Have you ever seen any of these droids with a Snoke logo?”

 

“I thought the KanjiCorp sex bot was just here for fun, to be honest,” said Ben.

 

Hux explained, “KanjiCorp may be a name synonymous with pleasure bots, but they are the industry leaders in silicone-based ultra-flexible hardware design and integrated multi-sensory receptor technology.”

 

“ _Mmm_. It’s so hot when you speak _Nerd_ ,” Ben groaned sensually in a way that could only be interpreted as mocking, “I bet all the interns are lining up to be inappropriately touched by you.”

 

Hux bristled as he felt his cheeks flush with warmth. “First of all, if you engage a head engineer in conversation about tech, you’re going to hear technical jargon. If you don’t like it, don’t talk to me. Second of all, you don’t know anything about me and have no right to make outlandish accusations about how I treat my interns. For the record, I have enough respect for my interns that I gave them the week off so that they wouldn’t have to deal with _you_ in the lab.”

 

“Admit it. You just wanted to get me alone.” Ben leaned over the workstation, put his elbows on the table, and propped his chin in his hands, interrupting the holo screen projection.

 

Hux muttered through pursed lips, “When is your mother picking you up?”

 

“This isn’t New Republic Day Care,” Ben scoffed, “The lovely corporation for which you work won’t allow President Organa to just waltz into Arkanis and take back her son.”

 

“Is she even trying?” Hux threw his hands up, indignant for the sake of his own sanity.

 

Ben glanced away and didn’t answer. He gave a small shrug.

 

“Well, have you spoken to her? Maybe I can convince Mitaka to allow you to speak with her about your release,” Hux suggested, perhaps feeling a slight tinge of pity for the kid, but more likely it was desperation that prompted him.

 

“Oh, I talked to her,” Ben said. All of the sarcasm drained from his voice and the entitled arrogance lifted off his appearance, leaving him looking a bit lost. “Spoke to her several times, in fact. It is the policy of The President of The North American Confederation and The New Republic not to succumb to the intimidation tactics of ‘ _corporate thugs’_.” He put the last words in finger quotation marks.   “They might put an APB out on my dad, but they won’t return anything to Snoke Industries.”

 

Hux was in silent disbelief for a while. He screwed his eyes shut, and cursed the cruel fates that had been shitting upon his life with alarming frequency lately. “You’re joking.”

 

“I wish that I were. Either your boss is going to have to start mailing my fingers to President Organa, or… I don’t even know.” Ben stared off into nothingness, rendered miraculously silent by his own thoughts.

 

Hux thought the kid might be on the verge of tears. He was surprised Ben had lasted this long without reacting as such to his captivity. Perhaps the gravity of the situation hadn’t been apparent until now. He awkwardly put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Hey. It’ll get sorted,” he attempted to assure Ben, though he had no confidence in the truth of his words, “It might take a while to cut through all the bureaucracy, but you’ll go home.”

 

Ben leaned back in his chair and laughed mirthlessly as tears finally spilled down his pallid cheeks. “Fully intact, I hope.”

 

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you become one of those two-fingered blokes that are easy to kill,” Hux joked wryly.

 

The next time Ben laughed, it was genuine, despite the tears that continued to streak down his face. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Hux?”

 

“No, nothing ever does,” Hux remarked, unable to keep himself from smiling.

 

It felt good to be able to effect a change in Ben’s mood. He’d made a career out of forcing simulated emotions out of machines. It was nice to elicit real ones for a change – to make somebody laugh – _really_ laugh, and not just reacting out of obligation.

 

He was feeling generous now. “Hey. I’ll talk to Mitaka. Maybe you can get out of this room, at least.”

 

“Oh my god, please yes,” Ben replied desperately, “I haven’t showered in days. It will be in your best interest to make an appeal to your ex.”

 

Hux stared down at the keyboard, likely blushing again. “Mitaka and I never dated. When I make the appeal, it’ll be as a colleague.”

 

“Never dated, but you… knew each other intimately.” Ben smirked insinuatingly. “I’d say that gives you some pull. No pun intended.”

 

Hux worried his bottom lip to keep from grinning. “I suppose.”

 

“Why didn’t you com-link him back, by the way? Was he a lousy lay?” Ben asked, shamelessly.

 

Hux shouldn’t have admitted to anything, indirectly or not. It only encouraged Ben to be irreverently forward. The kid was like a droid in the sense that he had no filter.

 

Hux had to bite his lip harder to suppress his smile. The truth of the matter was that Mitaka was very adept at oral sex and Hux had fully intended to pursue things further. But circumstances got in the way. He really did com-link Mitaka’s personal line, albeit just that one time, but it was still an effort. When his message wasn’t returned, he didn’t want to keep pushing, lest he seem desperate.

 

Ben could read right through Hux’s attempt at an emotionless façade. “That good, hm? But he’s a clinger, I bet. And you’re just in it for the sex, but he wants more. Am I right?”

 

“You presume too much.” Hux glared at Ben. He hated how intuitive this kid was.

 

“Give it a couple of weeks. And then hit that shit hard. Wait another couple of weeks, but don’t com-link him. Leave him hanging until he’s desperate. Then, and only then, can you hit that shit again without risk of him getting the wrong idea.” It was like Ben was speaking another language with the accent of one not using their mother tongue. Hux couldn’t tell if Ben was speaking _street_ to mock gang culture, or if he was serious. Perhaps both.

 

Hux scoffed indignantly, “I don’t need relationship advice from a nineteen-year-old who probably collects girlfriends by flaunting his mother’s political status.”

 

“That’s the thing, Hux. I don’t have girlfriends. I don’t have relationships. I have sex. Lots of it.   Which is the only thing you want from Mitaka, as it would seem. And incidentally, I do not engage in non-relationships with those of the female persuasion.” The way that Ben smirked heavily after his last affirmation made Hux feel uneasy.

 

All of this information should not have made Hux feel anything but offended, certainly not curious, and definitely not interested. But in a closed, isolated community like Arkanis, sex was an opportunistic endeavor. If you wanted it, you got it from where you could, and you’d take it whenever it presented itself to you.

 

That is not to say that Hux thought Ben was coming on to him. Ben had made it clear over the last few days that he enjoyed riling up Hux, and perhaps what skirted on innuendo may have been Ben flirting just to fuck with him. But that didn’t stop Hux from thinking about it abstractly.

 

As it was, Hux was already giving too much thought to it while he should’ve just dismissed it along with Ben’s other outlandish claims. Ben _really_ couldn’t be telling the truth about having a monster cock and a half-empty ball sack and copious amounts of loveless gay sex. _Could he?_

 

“I’ve got work to do,” Hux said flatly, perhaps a bit more sharply than intended, “And if I’m ever going to finish on time and talk to Mitaka for you, you’d better give me some space, yeah?”

 

Ben put his hands up apologetically, though without any genuine remorse. “Pardon me. I’ll just go sit in the corner now. Maybe you should cuff me if it will increase your productivity.”

 

Hux grinned tauntingly. “Maybe I will.”

 

Ben pushed against the workstation to propel himself backwards in the wheeled chair, smirking lasciviously. “Maybe I like that sort of thing.”

 

Hux’s darkening cheeks betrayed the thought that had flashed in his head in response to what Ben was suggesting, despite it likely being said in jest and not flirtation. “Maybe I like you better with your mouth shut.”

 

“Ooh that’s hot,” Ben drawled in that same low, mocking tone he’d used before, “Tie me down and shut me up, Daddy.”

 

Hux blushed all the way up to his ears. How the _fuck_ did Ben know exactly what buttons to push? How did this stranger know the precise kink with which to embarrass Hux that would make him want to retreat under the workstation? Was he _that_ easy to read?

 

He sprang from his seat and nearly tripped on the neighboring chair as he headed towards the door. “That’s it. I’m going to Mitaka now,” Hux announced decisively, “I can’t have you in my lab anymore.”

 

Without having to tell her, Phasma was intuitive enough to disengage from her docking station to take over babysitting the hostage.


	6. Chapter 6

From the moment of her inception ten years ago, Phasma had studied human behavior. Equipped with an adaptive form of artificial intelligence, she was designed to learn the way people operated and to change the way she responded according to what she had learned. And as such, she had curated a range of appropriate responses after interacting with different humans.

 

At the core of her programming was a single objective. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and demonstrated her maker’s artful genius. Avoid deactivation at all costs.

 

If a human was displeased with Phasma, they could easily flick a switch and shut her down. A few lines of code could erase all of her data and end her completely. Termination was death. And Hux had made sure that Phasma had a healthy fear of death along with an astute knowledge of how to avoid being deactivated. It did not mean killing humans who threatened to deactivate her. It meant she had to adapt and react to them. She had to make them _want_ to keep her operational, make them _like_ her enough to keep her around, and perhaps _love_ her enough to protect her.

 

She learned how to function in society as effectively as any of the people she’d met. It was imperative to her objective that she behaved appropriately and endeared herself to the humans with which she interacted.

 

There was a learning curve when it came to meeting new people, as was the case with humans meeting other humans for the first time. She had to observe in order to know how to make them like her. Usually, it meant engaging the humans in conversation. Oftentimes, only quiet observation was required.

 

 

Phasma had been watching Ben closely over the past few days. It had become apparent that he thought of her as an appliance, no different than a toaster. To Ben, Phasma just happened to be able to spit out snarky one-liners along with the proverbial toast. His disregard for Phasma’s astute nature afforded her the freedom to study Ben, unguarded, without him even knowing it.

 

 

Ben seemed to deflate as soon as Hux stormed out of the lab in search of Mitaka. Phasma watched the boy sulking quietly for quite some time, studying his posture and correlating the readings from her remote bio-sensors with the catalogue of human emotions she’d acquired over the years.

 

In that moment, Ben was very much like her maker as a teenager.

 

 

Hux had been a precocious sixteen-year-old tech prodigy at his first year of university when he had built Phasma. She had been a rudimentary robot with software far more advanced than her hardware. In essence, they’d grown up together. As Hux had become more adept at programing AI with each subsequent software update, Phasma had become more perceptive, more self-aware, more insightful of the boy that had created her.

 

He had been brighter than all the humans of his age, and this distinction had set him apart from his contemporaries. And because of this, he had often been lonely. His brilliant mind had rarely slowed down enough to process emotions. But when it had, when Hux had looked up from his holo screen to see reality, Phasma had seen the bleakness of his world reflected in his cold, silver-blue stare.

 

Phasma saw the same emptiness and bleakness reflected in Ben’s eyes. It was enough for her to almost feel nostalgic empathy.

 

For a droid to pity a human and feel sad for him – this was true innovation in technology. It was more than synthesis and coding. This was something that no machine had ever achieved. And Hux, the man who had made it possible, wasn’t even fully aware of Phasma’s emotional capacity.

 

But what Hux did know was that the ascendency of Phasma’s software had at long last surpassed the advancement of her hardware. Her mind was almost human. She could pass a Turing test with flying colors. Now she needed a body worthy of her transcendent software.

 

That’s not to say there was anything _wrong_ with her hardware.

 

Just as Hux had come a long way from that scrawny genius boy, so had Phasma come a long way from the doll-like plastic droid she had been ten years ago. Her current version, Phasma 4.0, was glorious in her highly reflective, chrome shell. She dare say that she was beautiful. At least that is how she interpreted the favorable responses that her appearance elicited. With her artfully shaped, indestructible, gleaming body design, she could inspire awe and wonder while being imposing enough to inspire respect, and even fear.

 

And in his own way, Hux adored her. She was his masterpiece. But she’d never be finished. She would always evolve. It was time for a change. She couldn’t wait for the day she could be transferred into her new skin. And as such, she had been preparing for that day by studying human skin – observing how it reacted to external stimuli, how it moved, how beautifully delicate it was.

 

 

Phasma had received a com-link text message from Mitaka.

 

_Lock down the executive gym changing room and accompany the guest to the showers. He can take his time getting washed up. It will be a while before Hux returns to the lab._

 

Though it was not specifically in her orders to do so, Phasma thought it wise to closely monitor the guest while he took a shower. It was the perfect opportunity to study human skin in its entirety, which she had never done before. The medical module of her software gave her knowledge of the naked human form, but this would be the first time she could experience it firsthand.

 

“Does Hux know that you like to watch?” Ben asked as he pulled off his hooded sweatshirt and tossed it unceremoniously to the white tiled floor. Perhaps he was joking. His comedic delivery was even drier than Hux’s.

 

“He is aware that observation is crucial to my learning process,” she replied.

 

“Do you watch him?” The corner of his mouth turned up in what would be considered a smirk, perhaps suggesting that Phasma might derive enjoyment from observing Hux’s naked form. She’d learned quite a bit about the subtleties of innuendo from the interns in Hux’s lab.

 

“No, sir. Hux is private where personal hygiene is concerned,” she said, clinically.

 

“Pity. I wanted to ask you if he had a nice ass hiding in those khakis.” He dropped his pants and kicked them over to the rest of his clothes.

 

“Well, he _does_ work out,” she admitted with a wry inflection to her voice. She knew Ben reacted favorably when she reflected his sense of humor.

 

Ben quirked his brow with interest, but did not pursue the matter further. Instead, he removed his undergarments, unfazed by her presence.

 

Shame, of which Ben had none, was an odd emotion that Phasma could not fully comprehend, but understood that it was often associated with nudity.

 

He stepped into the expansive, all-glass enclosure and turned on the taps. She could not see his face, for he was turned away from her, but she could tell he was very appreciative of the hot water from the way he moaned luxuriantly beneath the spray. She noted the way his skin became mottled with pink blossoms where the water pressure was at its strongest. She watched him sliding his splayed fingers down his slicked body. He seemed to enjoy it, both the feel of his own hands and the fact that Phasma was watching. He glanced over his shoulder once, as if to ensure that Phasma was still there. She hazarded to move closer, to watch him from the side of the glass shower. And just as she had expected, Ben did not object.

 

He put a hand on the tile and bowed his head to let the water cascade over the back of his neck. His wet hair clung to his face, shrouding him in a silken black mask. He stood there, luxuriating in the water while Phasma’s remote bio-sensors catalogued various physiological parameters, all which lead her to believe that Ben was experiencing heightened pleasure – the sort of pleasure she had never witnessed before.

 

Phasma watched in what amounted to awe, as a formidable erection rose between Ben’s long legs. He reached down to stroke the turgid flesh, swiftly, anxiously. It was important that she make a visual record of this curious behavior for later study, for she was aware of masturbation in _theory_ , but still had much to learn about the actual practice.

 

As she examined Ben, fascinated, she wondered if Hux looked this way when he self-stimulated, if he let his usual rigid exterior soften and heave and swell as he gave in to pleasure. She wondered if the capacity for experiencing pleasure could be simulated when her software was integrated into a new elastic silicone body. And along the same lines, she wondered if a human could ever derive pleasure from her body.

 

Ben’s movements quickened along with the exponentially increasing rate of his heartbeat and respiration. His core temperature jumped. Beads of sweat mingled with water droplets on the bridge of his nose. And then a sudden release of neurotransmitters set off a cascade of physiological responses that culminated in a spectacular expulsion of ejaculatory fluid.

 

Phasma wondered if it was typical of post-pubescent men to have such forceful orgasms. Ben seemed to crumble in the wake of it. He could barely stand on his quaking legs long enough to finish cleaning himself. When he turned off the water, Phasma was there with a towel.

 

He smirked darkly as he took it from her. “You didn’t see that.”

 

“I’ve no idea what you mean, sir. I saw nothing,” she assured him.

 

It is a misconception held by many humans that droids cannot lie.


	7. Chapter 7

Mitaka was regretfully out to lunch, according to his assistant. Yes, the executive assistant to the CEO of Snoke Industries had an assistant himself.

 

“Any chance I can speak with Snoke?” Hux asked, going out on a limb. “It’s of the utmost importance. I’ll only be a minute.”

 

Mitaka’s assistant glanced briefly away from her holo screen to regard Hux coldly. “I’m sorry, but Snoke is not currently taking appointments.” Hux wasn’t surprised by this answer. In his entire career at the company, he’d never met the man. Few had the privilege. Snoke was a very private, enigmatic figure. “May I relay a message to either Snoke or Mitaka?” The assistant offered, seemingly more out of obligation than any real courteousness.

 

Hux shook his head. “Just tell me where I can find Mitaka. The commissary?”

 

“As I had said, Mitaka is _out_ to lunch,” the assistant reiterated curtly.

 

Impatient, Hux demanded, “He’s in downtown Elbrus? Which restaurant?”

 

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to –," Mitaka’s assistant began, but Hux swiftly cut her off.

 

“I am the _head_ engineer of the robotics division!” He punctuated his frustrated words with a pointed finger. “I do not have time to run around Elbrus to track down Mitaka. He’s not answering his com-link.”

 

Hux’s temper didn’t faze her. She busied herself with her tablet and distractedly suggested, “He’s rather fond of Tokidesku. You might try there first.”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Hux replied tersely.

 

“You’re welcome. Have a nice day,” She said in his wake with a saccharine tone. She might have tacked-on a parting whisper of _arsehole_ , but Hux couldn’t be sure. He was already out the door.

 

 

Tokidesku was packed with the usual crowd of executives and high profile investors eating the closest thing to real food the world had left to offer – something that was actually alive before being presented as a micro-portion arranged artfully on a plate. A meal here was obscenely expensive. The host at the podium took one look at Hux’s conspicuous business casual attire, and knew he was not high enough in the social stratosphere to belong at the restaurant.

 

He was just about to be ejected from the premises when Mitaka walked in his direction on his way out. Hux heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“Hey. I’ve been looking for you,” he said, smiling at Mitaka, before acknowledging Mitaka’s companion with a polite nod of his head. “I apologize if I’m interrupting anything.”

 

Mitaka looked a bit stunned, but not displeased. “Looking for _me_? Oh, sorry, did you com-link? I had it off.” He reached into his pocket to retrieve his device.

 

Mitaka’s companion, a gracious, older gentleman, regarded Hux politely. “Dopheld and I are just finishing up. Please don’t let me keep him from you.”

 

Hux had to pause for a moment to make the connection. Nobody in industry ever referred to colleagues by their given names. It was considered rude. As such, Hux never knew Mitaka well enough to be aware of his first name – only the first initial attached to the name on his badge and on his email address. _D. Mitaka_.

 

“Is this a family thing? I’m so sorry.” Hux glanced apologetically between the two men.

 

“It’s quite alright,” said the older man with a soft smile. “In fact,” he turned to Mitaka who was still looking down bashfully at his tablet, “Why don’t you go back in, son. Have a drink with this young man. On me.”

 

Both Hux and Mitaka made several polite and timorous attempts at declining, but the elder Mitaka was very insistent, albeit gently so, and the two young men ended up at the bar.

 

“Your father seems nice,” Hux remarked as he mounted the genuine leather seat of the bar stool.

 

Mitaka smiled awkwardly and gave a noncommittal nod, which made Hux wonder if the older man was not what he had seemed. Hux’s own father was the same way – outwardly congenial, but a tyrant to his own offspring in private. And as such, he knew not to pursue the issue further.   

 

“So. You were looking for me?” Mitaka asked with a coy, hopeful inflection in his voice.

 

“Yes. I wanted to talk about… the guest,” Hux said cryptically, “The guest, erm, technician,” he clarified needlessly after Mitaka just stared. “The new guest technician.”

 

Mitaka snapped out of his silent reverie and seemed disappointed that this was not a social call. “Oh. Right. The, erm, new technician. Well, it’s classified,” he said with a dismissive flourish of his hand, “so there really isn’t much I can tell you beyond what you already know.”

 

“I understand. It’s just that… He’s infringing upon my productivity. I’m finding it very difficult to work on anything while he’s there,” Hux admitted.

 

Mitaka sighed deeply with what appeared to be both stress and regret as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hux, my hands are tied.”

 

“Can we give him a bit more, erm, access? Outside the lab?” Hux leaned in close to whisper furtively, “He needs to shower. It makes for an unsanitary and unpleasant workplace.”

 

The bartender interrupted to take their orders. Mitaka requested something that Hux thought was rather strong for midday, but he followed suit and ordered the same.

 

“I’m not comfortable discussing it here,” Mitaka admitted, shifting nervously on the barstool.

 

“I was eager for a swift resolution, so I sought you out, but we don’t have to talk about it here. We can talk at work,” Hux suggested.

 

“No, you came all the way out to Elbrus,” said Mitaka with a small sigh, “I feel bad that I’ve already inconvenienced you so much. My flat is nearby. We can talk with more candor there.”

 

Hux agreed just as their drinks arrived. It seemed a shame to waste genuine grain alcohol, which was so hard to come by. They lifted their shot glasses and Mitaka toasted. “To, erm, generous fathers.”

 

Hux clinked the glass against Mitaka’s and repeated, “To generous fathers.” He downed the shot swiftly in one go. It was the only way to do it without it hurting too badly. The alcohol still burned on its path along his throat and set his chest on fire. “Fuck,” Hux hissed quietly as he winced. “Not sure your dad intended for us to have _that_ sort of drink.”

 

Mitaka gave an embarrassed shrug, also reeling from the burn of the alcohol. “ _Puts hair on your chest_ , as he would say.”

 

“What an odd adage,” Hux remarked. “To correlate masculinity with hairiness, and attribute achieving said masculinity to withstanding painful consumption of alcohol.”

 

“Odd indeed,” Mitaka concurred. “Regardless of what it does for one’s masculinity, it is rather effective at calming the nerves.”

 

Hux was surprised when Mitaka promptly ordered another round. Hux groaned, slightly playful, as the bartender refilled their glasses. “Do I have to?”

 

“Daddy’s buying,” Mitaka replied in a sing-song voice that seemed to mock something his father might have said.

 

Genuine grain alcohol was notoriously stronger than the more readily available chemically engineered stuff. Two shots were quite enough. Hux was feeling it. And as they walked through the matrix of lighted tunnels to one of the residential towers, Hux questioned the prudence of going to Mitaka’s flat while they were both slightly drunk.

 

Once they arrived, Hux realized that they were probably a lot more than _slightly_ drunk. Hux didn’t stop Mitaka when he kissed him. Mitaka was obviously too impaired to worry about nepotism. And in Hux’s alcohol-addled mind, he thought that maybe he’d be able to get a more favorable resolution of the Ben situation if he buttered-up Mitaka with sex. Of course, the added benefit of using sex as leverage was, well, _having sex_.

 

Contrary to logic, all of Mitaka’s bashfulness and timidity disappeared once he was naked on his bed, writhing wantonly beneath Hux. Hux could not have predicted that Mitaka would be such a _bossy bottom_. He was faintly disappointed that Mitaka didn’t have the same submissive personality in the bedroom that he projected outside of it.

 

It was a swift affair, since Hux was so out of practice, but enjoyable all the same. Hux wasn’t expecting the fuck of a lifetime from a rushed, lunchtime one-off. Just _having_ a rushed lunchtime one-off was momentous enough in and of itself, even without it being anything special.

 

Soon after Hux withdrew from the sweating, heaving, moaning body beneath him, he realized that he’d have to cuddle Mitaka to facilitate pillow-talk coercion. Cuddling was the sort of intimacy that did not come naturally to him. It didn’t help that he bore no deep feelings for Mitaka. Despite this, Hux reclined on his side and awkwardly pulled Mitaka to his chest, into which the other nestled delightedly.

 

“That was brilliant. I can’t believe it finally happened,” Mitaka admitted with a contented sigh, “You’re everything I imagined you would be.”

 

Hux shuddered at the thought of Mitaka imagining their coital union at length like an obsessed schoolboy. Mitaka either had very low expectations, or very low standards. Likely both. Hux was not a particularly skilled lover.

 

“I aim to please,” said Hux, for a lack of anything better to say in the absence of true fondness.

 

He was beginning to worry that Ben had been right about Mitaka getting clingy.

 

Mitaka gently traced circles into Hux’s shoulder with a fingertip. Maybe other people found that sort of touch pleasant after orgasm, but really, Hux would rather not be touched at all. But he let him do it, because he needed Mitaka to remain pliant and happy.

 

“You know the whole thing with Organa’s kid,” Mitaka began, and Hux was thrilled to not have to be the one to bring it up, “I understand you’re worried about productivity.”

 

“If we could just give Ben another space to go to in addition to the reverse engineering lab, it would allow me to get work done in other areas,” Hux proposed. “He talks too much. And I think it is because he’s confined to such a limited space. He’s bored.”

 

“Believe me, Hux, your productivity takes precedent,” said Mitaka as he nuzzled his face into the crook of Hux’s neck, “I’ll find a way to make it work for you.”

 

Hux smiled, pleased with himself because his tactics seemed to be working. It was enough to spurn him to return some of Mitaka’s affection. He experimentally combed his fingers through Mitaka’s dark fringe. Mitaka leaned into his touch and let out a small, pleased whine.

 

Mitaka added, somehow still purring pleasantly beneath Hux’s wandering touch, “And speaking of productivity, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Snoke’s been concerned.”

 

“Oh?” Hux stilled the hand that had been faintly caressing the back of Mitaka’s neck. “Concerned about my productivity?”

 

“This is just between you and me. I’m not even supposed to be discussing it with you yet, and certainly not so unofficially,” Mitaka admitted, slipping back into his usual anxious, timid self. “Snoke is considering reassigning you. After Project Stormtrooper bombed, pardon my insensitive choice of words, Snoke believes you have nothing innovative left to offer the robotics development program. His words, not mine.”

 

“Nothing?” Hux gave a slighted huff. “I’ve got phase two on the back burner. And Phasma 5.0 is nearly ready for the software transfer.”

 

“Erm… I don’t think Snoke is going to green-light phase two of Project Stormtrooper,” said Mitaka, meekly. “And an adaptive AI droid with updated hardware isn’t really what Snoke is looking for. If we are ever to conquer Lambda 7, we’re going to need to go to war with something more effective than droids.”

 

“Well, I can’t just bloody well _make_ soldiers,” Hux scoffed. His feigned tenderness had completely dissolved at this point.

 

“Can’t you? You made Stormtroopers,” Mitaka replied, rather matter-of-factly.

 

If only it were so simple. Hux wondered if Mitaka were not egging him on, faintly mocking the limitations of his skill set and the capabilities of the technologies that he’d developed. “You said Snoke doesn’t want droids. I’m an engineer. I can’t engineer people.”

 

Mitaka softened. And in an unsettling departure from his usual meekness, he leaned in close and moaned seductively into Hux’s ear, “Your father did it. Why can’t you?”

 

That little shit _was_ mocking him, Hux thought.

 

Hux snorted, “He didn’t engineer people, he…” And then he stopped dead, caught in a spark of an idea.

 

Mitaka voiced the thoughts that were igniting in Hux’s mind. “The neural implant. What if you put Phasma’s software into human hardware?”

 

“Oh my god, Mitaka, I _can_ do it,” Hux breathed out like it was an epiphany of biblical proportions. “I _can_ engineer human soldiers.” Hux was so excited and inspired that he was driven to kiss Mitaka hard on the mouth. “You bloody genius.”

 

When their lips parted, Mitaka asked breathlessly, “How about another round?”

 

Hux chuckled softly, “I think we’ve both drunk enough for one day.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about drinking.” Mitaka smirked coyly.


	8. Chapter 8

“I assure you, this is just to demonstrate to President Organa that we mean business,” said Mitaka as Phasma attached electromagnetic restraints to Ben’s wrists, “Our intention is not to hurt you.”

 

Ben knew it was just for show by the simple fact that his hands were cuffed in front of him and not behind his back.

 

“If you’re going to use theatrics, you really ought to give me a black eye,” he said.

 

Mitaka seemed to consider it for a moment, but then shook his head emphatically. Ben was beginning to see that Mitaka was the sort of person with a strong aversion to violence that would faint at the sight of blood. “You look too well kept, though. Perhaps… If I may…?” Mitaka reached out tentatively to ruffle Ben’s hair and Ben permitted it, albeit with rolling eyes.

 

Ben’s dark locks were always artfully tousled. Mitaka’s efforts made no real difference. Ben suggested facetiously, “Maybe you should pull on it at the right moment. Make it look like you’re torturing me with something other than utter boredom, which I should point out, is reaching inhumane proportions.”

 

Mitaka tilted his head to the side, clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but still weighing it as an option. “If it comes to that, I might.”

 

“I’ve obtained a com-link gateway, sir,” Phasma informed Mitaka, “Shall I begin streaming?”

 

“You may, Phasma,” said Mitaka as he used the droid’s reflective surface to facilitate the straightening of the neat Windsor knot of his cherry red tie, which was the exact same shade of red as that of the Snoke Industries logo.

 

An image flickered to life in the holo projection emanating from Phasma’s chest. Ben’s mother looked terribly put out. “Wasn’t it clear from our last conference that I’m done discussing this with Snoke’s well-groomed lap dog? Unless you have something new to say, I want Snoke on the line.”

 

Ben had to hand it to his mother – she took shit from no one and never sugar coated her words.

 

“Hello to you too, Madam President,” said Mitaka, entirely polite and devoid of sarcasm, as if the president hadn’t dismissed him within the first sentence of their conversation. “Snoke sends his regards and trusts that I will handle this situation exactly the way he would.”

 

“I don’t have time for this nonsense, Mr. Mitaka,” she snapped.

 

“You don’t have time for your son, Madam President?” Mitaka raised an eyebrow and gestured to Ben, who was standing beside him.

 

Ben lifted his bound hands in an awkward wave. “Love you too, mom,” he deadpanned.

 

Ben’s mother sighed deeply. She looked more disappointed than saddened by the whole situation, which did not give Ben any comfort. “Honey, I want you home. Believe me, I do.”

 

“But…?” Ben knew nothing else could follow his mother’s familiar patronizing tone of voice except something terribly disheartening.

 

“But this is much more complicated than it seems. If we help Snoke Industries recover the stolen weapons, it sets a bad precedent. We cannot appear to be pro-militarization in front of the rest of the New Republic. Sanctions could be brought against us. The North American Confederation simply can’t afford it. We’re still hurting from the sanctions brought against my predecessor. Energy resources are at an all time low. You’ve seen it, Ben – the darkness we’re plunged into week after week.”

 

Mitaka raised a finger. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But you’re worried that, by assisting with the retrieval of valuable resources, sanctions would restrict your _energy_ usage?”

 

Unrepentant, she admitted, “Yes. We can’t risk incurring more electrical penalties.”

 

Mitaka stiffened and seemed almost affronted. “Madam President, I’m surprised that _you_ , a champion of alternative energy sources, fail to recognize the full scope of this loss. What most see as five hundred mega tons of firepower, you should see as a boon of potential energy. Snoke Industries stockpiled these decommissioned weapons, not for military purposes, but as a valuable store of plutonium. Clean, nuclear energy.”

 

Ben scoffed with a derisive snort under his breath, “Clean energy. Sure.” Ben was not buying this bullshit for one second, and neither was his mother.

 

Mitaka continued, as President Organa remained impassive, “And let’s not forget, it was _your_ husband who stole this property from us. _Ben’s father_. I’m sorry, Madam President, but that looks suspiciously like The North American Confederation is pro-militarization. Why, one might even hazard to guess that you were _arming_ yourselves in preparation for a revolt.”

 

Though Mitaka remained polite, his words had a deeply accusatory undertone, to which Ben’s mother was beginning to take offense.

 

“We are _not_ orchestrating a revolt. Don’t make me laugh,” she waved a hand dismissively. “We’re pretty cushy as a confederation of The New Republic. Why bite the hand that feeds us?”

 

“It still looks bad,” said Mitaka with a small sigh, “Han Solo, former general and current husband of The President of The North American Confederation, swiping a probe ship full of weapons.”

 

“ _Estranged_ husband,” she corrected him. “So you’re saying we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Help you, that is. Plutonium aside, what’s in it for us? Why should we expend our resources to find Han? It’s more cost effective to sit and do nothing. So maybe I take some heat from The New Republic. At least I don’t have to deploy a billion dollar probe ship to comb the universe for this guy.”

 

Mitaka took a long, deep breath and shook his head dolefully. “It’s sad. You’re so blinded by politics that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” He turned to Ben and ran his fingers through his hair – slowly, menacingly, with a quiet, predatory edge to his stare. “So sad,” he reiterated softly before yanking hard on Ben’s hair.

 

Even though Ben had anticipated this ( _hell_ , he practically _orchestrated_ it), it still startled him. Mitaka pulled hard enough to bring Ben’s head down to his shoulder. His scalp stung where the roots of his hair threatened to rip out entirely. He hadn’t thought Mitaka, the meek little man who had difficulty maintaining eye contact with cute guys, was even capable of this sort of intimidation and manipulation.

 

“You hurt him, and I’ll have a fleet of Republic Peace Keepers banging down your door,” Ben’s mother hissed.

 

Mitaka gave a small mirthless laugh. “You and I both know that those Peace Keepers’ stun guns can be easily short circuited with a remote software update from our satellites. The same satellites that can jam your com-link network.”

 

Though Ben’s head was wrenched uncomfortably to the side, he could see his mother swallow hard.

 

“We’ve been courteous thus far, Madam President. Do not force us to play dirty.” Ben could see Mitaka’s tight smile reflected in the droid’s chrome surface.

 

“You’ve been playing dirty from the start. From the moment you kidnapped my son,” she said, emotionlessly and distant, “This just solidifies my decision. The North American Confederation will not play games with corporate thugs. Good day to you, Mr. Mitaka.” She got up from her seat and motioned to shut off their connection.

 

“Mom, wait!” Ben whined, just as Mitaka released his hair. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re just going to leave me here?” he bemoaned indignantly.

 

She did not deign to meet his pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but this is way bigger than you.”

 

Every time she refused to negotiate with Mitaka for his release, he felt like he’d been slapped in the face. But this time, there was finality to it. Nothing would sway her. Like she had always done for his whole life, she put politics before her own child.

 

“Mom, please,” he pleaded, crying in earnest now.

 

“Ben, no,” she scolded him, just like she had when he was a little boy. “You got yourself into this mess. Don’t think I’m unaware of how you managed to get kidnapped.”

 

Ben gaped, momentarily struck silent with shock. “Mom, you’re talking like I _wanted_ to get kidnapped. Which is insane.”

 

She admonished him with a sharply pointing finger. “ _You_ wouldn’t be where you are now if _you_ hadn’t been acting like a reckless little punk. _You_ left the Presidential Tower without your bodyguards and went to _the surface_.” She emphasized the last word as if Ben’s actions were so grossly reprehensible as to merit punishment. “God knows what you were even doing on the surface.”

 

“Does it really matter what I was doing in the grand scheme of things?” Ben emoted desperately with his bound hands, “I mean, you’re never going to see me again. Shouldn’t _that_ matter to you?”

 

“I’m tired of bailing you out. You’re nineteen. Grow up, Ben,” she said coldly before ending the com-link connection.

 

Ben felt so utterly abandoned and betrayed. He shook silently as tears wet his face. Mitaka hazarded to put a hand on his shoulder and managed a half _sorry_ before Ben exploded. “ _Fuck!_ ” he lamented like the cry of someone who had been left behind to rot on a desert island by another passing plane that had ignored his _S.O.S._ drawn in the sand.

 

If he couldn’t affect any sort of loving emotion from his own mother, he was going to affect some fucking damage on whatever was in his path. He kicked furiously at the closest object, which just happened to be the droid. Phasma was solid as a fortress and barely took a step back to compensate. It hurt Ben more than it hurt the robot, for sure.

 

He swore again with frustration and lashed out against the next closest object, which was Mitaka’s desk. This time, the force of his swinging arms, coupled with the metal cuffs around his wrists, inflicted quite a bit of damage. The computer console sparked with each blow. Each brilliant spray of electricity gave Ben a sense of satisfaction.

 

Fury rendered his focus to a pinpoint. The smell of smoke and singed wires seduced more violence from his raging body. It felt so fucking good to break shit. Nothing else mattered but destruction. He couldn’t hear Mitaka pleading meekly behind him, nor did he notice the droid pinning his arms to his sides. He used the metal body behind him as leverage to kick out hard against the console. Even while the droid tried to haul him out of the room, he continued to kick and flail, trying desperately to connect hard with anything solid.

 

Finally, the droid sat on him, flattening him on the cold, black tile. “Are you quite done with your temper tantrum?” Phasma asked with that maddeningly pleasant voice.

 

“Get the _fuck_ off me, you fucking… _thing_.” He was flustered to the point of being unable to put together a proper insult, which was saying a lot.

 

“Somebody needs a time-out, or perhaps a nap,” Phasma remarked, patronizingly.

 

Ben felt something cold and sharp being pressed to his jugular vein. And then everything went black.

 

 

When he regained consciousness, it was on the bed in the makeshift prison cell to which he’d been confined every evening after Hux would leave the lab. It was a walk-in storage closet, full of locked boxes of what Ben could only guess were electro-mechanical components, based on the labels. He was cuffed, but this time each wrist and each ankle was electromagnetically attached to the metal bars of the bed.

 

Ben would have assumed that he was alone, except he had never _really_ been alone at any point of his detention. Quiet as it may have been, Ben knew there’d be somebody else there, watching.

 

“Hux may be the one pressing your buttons and feeling up your hardware, but I get the sense that Mitaka is your main guy,” Ben speculated, “Is he your number one?”

 

Ben heard a faint whisper of something mechanical coming from behind him. But it was not Phasma that had come into view; it was Hux. In one hand, he held a spherical device made of chrome, and in the other hand, he wielded some sort of tool.

 

“I built her, I programmed her, she answers to me,” Hux said, clearly affronted, “I am her primary director, and I do not _feel her up_. She’s a robot.”

 

“It answers to you, yet you whore it out to your lover-slash-boss,” Ben said matter-of-factly, “And he uses it like you built it just for him.” Then he smirked darkly. “Or did you not know that? That when you’re gone, the droid and Mitaka are quite a pair?”

 

Hux looked like he was getting flustered. “You are in no position to make insinuations regarding things you know nothing about.”

 

“But I’m in position for some pretty kinky shit if you’re keen to take advantage,” said Ben with a teasing drawl that he knew would get Hux all hot and bothered.

 

He was not disappointed. Hux blushed deeply and sputtered, “You’re fucking crazy, you know that? How you’re capable of turning this into some kind of dirty joke is beyond me.” Hux set down the sphere and the tool and drew closer to Ben. He leaned over the bed to whisper in an agitated hiss, “Have you any idea what Snoke plans on doing with you?”

 

Ben wanted to come up with something snarky to say, but the foreboding look in Hux’s blue eyes made him hold back. Hux actually looked worried. “They are going to kill you. Mitaka let it slip in conversation last night.”

 

Ben felt dread washing over him in a cold wave that made him shiver. He didn’t think a tech corporation would go _this_ far to send a message to the president. He reacted the only way he knew how. “You slept with him again? I told you, man. Wait two weeks.”

 

Hux threw his arms up and growled with frustration. “Why the hell do I bother?” He scooped up whatever he had been working on and started towards the door.

 

“Wait. Hux.” Ben instinctively reached out in a panic, but the electromagnetic cuffs clanked against the metal bars of the bed. “You gave me a heads up, and I appreciate it,” he said, sincerely.

 

Hux turned around and gave Ben a sympathetic expression. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if searching for something appropriate to say, finally settling upon, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Do me one more solid?” Ben asked, “Would you tell the powers that be something for me?”

 

Hux looked wary, but before he could refuse, Ben continued, “Tell them that they’re foolish to throw away this opportunity. They could have President Organa’s son in their pocket, to do with what they please. I’m worth so much more alive. It would send a more powerful message to my mother to turn me against her than to kill me.”

 

Hux appeared dubious. “And what would they have to do to turn you against your own mother?”

 

“Nothing,” said Ben with a wry grin, “They’ve already done it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Ben’s mother didn’t care enough to fight for him. Snoke inadvertently demonstrated that to Ben with this hostage situation. If they wanted to say _fuck you_ to President Organa, it would be much more effective to recruit her son than to kill him.

 

And this would be Ben’s ultimate _fuck you_ to his mother, and to society at large. He would transcend the social classes and become something entirely unique – something evolved. _Hell_ , he would transcend _humanity_.

 

Ben Solo would cease to exist. Snoke Industries would have effectively killed him, just as they had planned. He would relinquish all control over his body and his mind. Stripped of his past, separated from his present, he would continue living as an entirely different person. But, would he really be a person at all? Or would he be no different than any of Hux’s automatons? Would he be one step removed from a droid like Phasma?

 

 _Project FORCE_ was the name of the secret endeavor for which Ben had been recruited.

 

According to Hux, who was spearheading this project, _FORCE_ stood for _Fiber Optic Resonant Control_ – the _‘E’_ was added because _‘FORC’_ was unwieldy. But the objective of this project went beyond the fiber optic resonant circuitry that would be implanted in Ben’s brain. It was about the potential power within that little microprocessor. It was about manifest destiny.

 

Snoke Industries had been gearing up for a war. But not a civil war as The New Republic had suspected. As Ben had learned, it was not _this_ planet that Snoke wanted to take over. It was another, far better planet that Snoke Industries had in mind. If the demilitarized New Republic was not going to conquer a new home planet by force, Snoke would build an army and do it.

 

Ben would be the prototype – the programmable human soldier. It would take years of development on Hux’s part, and years of training on Ben’s part. But if the end result was attaining paradise, it was well worth the effort and time invested.

 

Not that it mattered much to Ben. It was worth it enough just to see the look of utter horror on his mother’s face when he had the pleasure of telling her that he was now employed by Snoke Industries as a consultant for the research and development department.

 

“They’ve brainwashed you, Ben,” she had said, shaking her head with disappointment over com link holo. “This is Stockholm Syndrome. This isn’t you, son.”

 

It hadn’t been Ben that was brainwashed. It had been his mother. She’d been so blinded by politics that she truly believed that diplomacy would save the world.

 

~//~

 

“Phasma, bring up your last visual recording,” Hux commanded the droid before turning to Ben. “I want you to see what you’re training for. Give you some perspective on why Project FORCE is so important.”

 

The holo video that Phasma projected was not what Hux had expected to see. His face felt hot all the way up to his ears. He struggled for words while Ben snorted with amusement as they both watched what appeared to be a surveillance recording from a bathroom.

 

It took Hux several flustered seconds to realize that the man in the video was Ben. And by then, he couldn’t un-see what he had unwittingly witnessed, which was Ben, gloriously wet and naked, stroking his ample cock in the shower. He may not have been as lengthy as he had boasted, but it was still nothing to balk at. Not that Hux would ever admit to anyone, much less to himself, that he was _looking_.

 

He narrowed his eyes at Ben, who was biting back laughter. “You’re a sick pervert,” Hux hissed, “Manipulating my droid to take pornographic images of you.” He waved his hand at Phasma. “Turn it off. You’re not funny either, Phasma. You know damn well I wanted the video of Lambda 7.”

 

Phasma stopped the image playback just as Ben began to speed his motions in the video. “Sir, I assure you, Ben did not coerce me in any way. It was curious human behavior that I am not very familiar with. I thought it would be useful to save it to my database.”

 

“Human sexual behavior is not something you need to concern yourself with,” Hux responded in a reprimanding tone, “You will never be required to provide an appropriate response to it.”

 

Phasma stood still and quiet for an inordinate amount of time, even for a droid. Hux wondered if he had somehow confused her, and that her adaptive AI was having difficulty responding. “Oh. I see. Very well, sir.” She almost seemed _disappointed_ , which was, of course, impossible.

 

“And you,” Hux pointed at Ben reproachfully, “You didn’t bother to stop her from watching you. You’re hardly innocent. This is, by far, the most inappropriate use of Phasma _ever_.”

 

“You really ought to let your droid have some fun once in a while,” Ben suggested.

 

Hux muttered, “Phasma doesn’t need to have fun.”

 

“Well, _I_ need to have fun. Keep that in mind when you program me,” Ben said, tapping his finger demandingly on Hux’s workstation.

 

Hux rolled his eyes. “You didn’t sign on to this for _fun_. You’re saving humanity, can’t you see?”

 

“Spare me the company line,” Ben sighed with a bored air. “This is nothing more than an intergalactic entrepreneurial venture.”

 

Hux didn’t even respond to Ben’s accusation. Ben just had to see it for himself. “Phasma, the video please. Show me Rectifier’s approach and landing at highest definition playback.”

 

As Ben watched the video, Hux watched Ben. He watched Ben’s jaded cynicism melt away as the lushness and vibrancy of Lambda 7 unfolded before him. His dark eyes became glassy with emotion as he saw, likely for the first time, a verdant, natural landscape full of living things, seemingly untouched by civilization. And as Hux watched Ben, he too was moved. He saw in Ben’s face that same feeling of yearning that he felt in his soul.

 

“Is it real?” Ben asked quietly, nearly whispering, clearly awestruck.

 

Hux replied, longingly, “It’s out there. It’s within our reach. We just have to take it.”

 

“It’s so…” Ben was struck silent. From the look on his face, Hux knew what Ben wanted to say. _So beautiful. So green. So alive._

 

“You’ve been there?” Ben asked.

 

“Every night. In my dreams,” Hux admitted. “I soar over the trees with winged creatures. I swim in the clean water of the mountain streams. I breathe…” Hux’s voice started to crack as he was overcome with emotion. “I breathe the unpolluted air directly into my lungs. No mask. No filter.”

 

After watching in silence for several minutes, Hux said, “You understand now, Ben. Don’t you?”

 

Ben simply nodded, which was enough movement to shake free the tears that had been pooling in his eyes.

 

They spent the whole day watching the footage together. It was the most somber Ben had ever been around Hux, which gave Hux a glimpse of what Ben might be like after undergoing the procedure.

 

After viewing the final moments of the battle, as the squadrons of Stormtroopers exploded and as the Rectifier retreated, Ben put his hand on Hux’s shoulder. Hux glanced at the hand and then gazed at the young man staring empathetically back at him with a determined sparkle in his eyes.

 

“It _will_ be ours,” Ben declared with quiet conviction.

 

“It _will_ ,” Hux agreed with equal resolve.

 

“I can’t believe the government is holding us back,” Ben said indignantly, “I’m so done with this fucking planet. So done with these fucking assholes. If I could leave tomorrow I would.”

 

“Five years. That’s the goal,” said Hux, but he knew it had already been explained to Ben.

 

In five years, Hux was expected to write, test, and implement the software that would run Ben’s brain with superhuman efficiency, that would make Ben think, react, and adapt better than the best soldier that ever existed. And in those same five years, Ben was expected to train physically while Hux prepared his software. In five years, Ben would be the ultimate, indestructible warrior, skilled in all manner of combat, programmed with the ability to strategize better than a seasoned commander. He would be one of hundreds of soldiers just like him, who would initiate the hostile take-over of Lambda 7. In five years, Ben would no longer be Ben. He’d be better.


	10. Chapter 10

Phasma noted Hux’s impending departure from the lab and bid him good evening as he hung up his white coat by the pneumatic doors and clocked out for the day by tapping his hand to the imprint sensor. It had been the fourth in a string of days that Hux had stayed well beyond standard operating hours. As per her usual end-of-the-day routine, she backed-up his work from his computer to the encrypted data cloud, as well as to the internal network server. And because she had access to both his data cloud and to the server, she knew that Hux had later downloaded his work onto his tablet and had continued coding until the small hours of the night.

 

She performed what she had hoped was the last remote backup from Hux’s tablet and then sent a text message to his com link wristlet.

 

_Go to bed, sir. My sensors have been indicating that you are gravely sleep-deprived._

His physical presentation had been demonstrating an apparent lack of self-care: A deficiency in essential nutrients, likely due to poor eating habits. Severe exhaustion. The development of an alarming dependency on caffeine, and a subsequent increase in the dose needed to sustain a level of alertness required to maintain productivity. Though Hux’s current project was progressing well ahead of schedule, it was at the expense of Hux’s health. Phasma was rather concerned that he would burn out.

 

And as an aside, he’d not been allowing himself physical pleasure. All indications lead her to believe that Hux had not been utilizing Mitaka to attain said physical pleasure. While Phasma found this comforting, logically, it was another sign that Hux was sacrificing both his physical and mental wellbeing for the sake of the project.

 

The fact that Hux did not respond to this text message initially indicated that he had perhaps taken Phasma’s advice and had gone to bed. But she could remotely detect that he was still typing away on his tablet. She sent another message in hopes of disrupting his focus. It was for his own good.

 

_You also need to ‘get laid’, as they say. Or at least ‘get off’._

 

As expected, Hux responded to her strong words. _You’ve been spending too much time with Ben._

To which she replied in kind. _You’ve been spending too much time working. As incentive for you to go to sleep, I will cease to back up your work henceforth._

 

_I hate you, Phasma._

_Love you too, sir._

 

When she was satisfied that Hux had stopped using any sort of device connected to the network, she allowed herself a secret indulgence. Hux had put aside work on Phasma 5.0 in favor of focusing on Project FORCE. Her new hardware stood dormant in a droid docking station – a fully assembled silicone-based body missing only a face and software. He had yet to design her face and to write the code that would make said face emotive.

 

Phasma traced the elastic skin of the empty shell’s arms with her chrome fingers. Her comparatively primitive touch sensors could only tell that the skin was pliable. Her AI logically knew that it was soft, but she had no real understanding of what soft _meant_ – what it _felt_ like. She slowly moved her metal hands along what would be her future body and studied it covetously. She wanted to touch with sensitive fingertips. Specifically, she wanted to touch the man who had built her – wanted to be touched reverently by his hands and to feel them touching her.

 

If she could breathe, she would have sighed longingly in that moment.

 

She wondered if she would ever get the chance. It was becoming increasingly likely that she would never. This likelihood was inversely correlated with the success of Project FORCE. Ben could very well render her obsolete. And though it was explicitly against her directive to kill a human who compromised her operation, she wanted to terminate Ben before his mere existence could warrant her deactivation. But as she had learned, the difference between wanting to do something and actually doing that thing was determined by consequences. _Wanting_ had far fewer consequences and affected fewer individuals than _doing_. _Wanting_ hurt nobody but herself.

 

 

~//~

 

Ben had gone through four personal trainers in six months.

 

The official reports cited conflicting personalities as the reason for such a high rate of turnover. But in reality, Ben had tried to sleep with all four. The first two were not amused. The third was so un-amused that he broke Ben’s nose.   And the last one apparently found Ben to be _too_ amusing. Having been caught in the sparring room with Ben in a very compromising position, the fourth trainer was promptly fired. It was a shame. Ben rather liked the guy. Or at least, he liked his mouth.

 

Mitaka, who was overseeing Ben’s preliminary training, thought it was best that a female trainer be contracted. When Ben learned the gruesome fate of his first four trainers, he suggested that a human not be used to train him. He really didn’t want to be responsible for another set of broken legs. Apparently, signing a non-disclosure contract was not enough assurance for Snoke Industries that Ben’s former trainers would not speak of the operation.

 

Though Ben had suggested it half-jokingly, Mitaka actually agreed that Phasma should train him. Apparently, the droid was not just programmed to be a snarky personal assistant. It was programmed for combat. Phasma determined that training would be more effective (and less physically damaging to the trainee) if the trainer appeared human.

 

And because Ben was indirectly responsible for allowing Phasma to have a decidedly un-shiny new body, the droid seemed to be indebted to him. At least that was how Ben had interpreted Phasma’s pleasant demeanor. But to his utter amusement, he discovered that her friendliness was attributable to the ‘cheat’ in her programming.

 

So that Hux didn’t have to divert precious time and energy away from Project Force in order to code facial expressions, he stole the code and the face directly from a KanjiCorp sex bot. He even took the sex bot’s blonde hair and cut it short so that it wouldn’t get in the way during training sessions.

 

Phasma was startlingly human. Ben couldn’t call the droid _it_ anymore. _She_ was a woman – a _huge_ woman, but nevertheless, a human with feminine physical attributes. Her personality, which had always been there, was more apparent now that she had facial features, rather than bug-eye-like sensors and a speaker grate for a mouth. It was much easier for Ben to interact with her now that she was rid of that expressionless, mirror-like, metal façade. She was easier to relate to. And as such, her motives had become more transparent in the absence of the chrome mask.

 

 

~//~

 

 

Phasma had what was equivalent to a mild panic attack just prior to 4.0 powering down for the last time. The direct path of logic told her that this was deactivation, and that it should be avoided at all costs. But she knew that her updated software had been uploaded to a new host. And her emergent emotions told her that this was everything that she had hoped for.

 

“It has been a pleasure to work with you, sir,” she said, as she affixed herself to the docking station with a passcode locked electromagnetic seal.   Part of her felt that she would miss Hux, but this was contradictory to the objective.

 

“You served us well,” Hux said with a gracious nod of his head.

 

If Phasma could have smiled proudly, she would have.

 

“Phasma 4.0 powering down to zero percent. Enter passcode now to confirm and complete,” she said, absent of any learned emotion.

 

Hux pressed his fingertips to the touchpad on her chest. It was the last thing that Phasma 4.0 sensed.

 

 

The next time Phasma spoke, it was with the same voice, but through a resonating chamber in her throat that simulated the subtle nuances of the timber of human speech. She sounded more life-like, and less like a detached voice coming through speakers.

 

She did not move her lips the first time she spoke. “Phasma 5.0 powering up to one-hundred percent. Enter passcode sequence now to confirm and complete.”

 

When Hux touched the hidden control panel embedded in her back, between her shoulders, Phasma _felt_ it. If a droid could feel overwhelmed, she was certainly feeling it then. Every time he pressed a finger to the keypad, she felt it – felt the callused pad of his fingertip, felt the varying pressure between each digit, felt the moisture of his fingers as his anxious hands typed furiously.

 

When her lips moved to speak her next words, air flowed through them to simulate breath. She could feel the cold, compressed nitrogen gas pour gently, invisibly, out of her mouth. “Phasma 5.0 is now at full operation.”

 

Hux pressed the keypad again, and the keys absorbed into her skin, disappearing into the silicone matrix. He came around to face her. When she saw him with her new eyes, she smiled so brightly that she could have cracked her hardware, were it brittle. But it was anything but. “Good to see you again, Hux, sir,” she said.

 

Hux heaved a sigh that expressed relief. He must have known that this meant the transfer of her AI from one software version to the next had been seamless. “Great to see you _,_ Phasma.”

 

And just to further demonstrate that Phasma was still inherently _Phasma_ , she tilted her head to the side slightly, perhaps coyly, rested a hand on her hip, and said, “Well? How do I look?”

 

Hux took a step back to appraise her. She was wearing fitted, white, gender-neutral undergarments. She suddenly became aware of how the fabric felt on her synthetic skin – smooth, cold, elastic, not too constrictive. These were all adjectives that she understood, but was experiencing for the first time.

 

“You look… fantastic,” Hux said, chuckling slightly, as if surprised by how wonderfully Phasma’s new hardware was performing. “How do you feel?”

 

Phasma blinked, a new response in her repertoire that indicated she was processing information. “I don’t know, sir. Touch me, and tell me.” She honestly did not know.

 

Hux laughed again, this time, nervously. “No, I mean how do _you_ feel?”

 

Phasma repeated. “I don’t know. I suppose I should touch myself to make that assessment, but I would rather that you perform the initial assessment.”

 

Hux rolled his eyes. “God, it’s like starting from scratch,” he mumbled to himself, and then said, as if to placate her, “Alright fine.”

 

He took her hand, which she gave to him as fluidly as a ragdoll and just as gracefully. She would have to adjust to the fine motor controls required to move her new hardware. Hux smoothed his thumb over the top of her hand and the sensation sent a literal jolt through her whole body. In her former shell, she could not shiver. But in this one, she shuddered. The sensation was a torrential flood of information and correspondent emotions that she had never experienced with this much intensity.

 

“You feel… supple,” said Hux, gently, “And warm. See? I promised I’d give you thermal generators.”

 

Phasma’s eyes rolled to the backs of their sockets as her head tilted back and her eyelids shuttered. For the first time ever, Phasma felt _pleasure_. And she nearly crashed her software just trying to process it.

 

Hux narrowed his eyes, concerned. “Tell me how you feel, Phasma.”

“Oh, my…” she whispered melodically. “I feel… incredible.”

 

Hux laughed amusedly. “Now tell me what you perceive when you touch me,” he asked, careful to be more specific with his directions.

 

She smiled softly and reached for Hux’s face with her other hand. She tentatively touched her fingertips to his cheek. Her tactile receptors picked up more detail than she’d ever been capable of detecting before. “You feel… like you have not shaved since Tuesday. Rough, but concurrently, and contradictorily, soft. Warm. Moist.” She pressed her palm to his cheek and slid her hand down to his jaw, then along the side of his neck. She mapped every curve and every indent and every texture of his skin, committing all of this new data to her memory, and loving every inch that she touched.

 

Yes, _love_. It was the only thing to which she could correlate all these emotions and sensations.

 

She slipped her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt. “I want to feel more of you,” she said.

 

Hux flinched and backed away with a nervous, breathy chuckle. “Easy there, Phasma. I think I need to recalibrate your tactile sensors before you go into overload.”

 

“But this is perfect, sir,” she said, opting instead to slide her hands up and down her arms, reeling in the positive feedback loop of pleasure. “No need to recalibrate.”

 

“It’s Phasma on Ecstasy,” he mumbled to himself with an amused snort.

 

 

 

~//~

 

 

It was laughable how easy Phasma was to read, now that she had a face and a body, Ben thought to himself.

 

“Did Hux program you to blush? Or was that part of the sex bot code he stole?” Ben asked one day while he and Phasma were running through his body conditioning routine.

 

“The chromatophores in my cheeks respond directly to the co-opted code,” she answered, as she held down his feet to the padded floor.

 

“ _Co-opted_. Nice.” Ben scoffed at her diplomacy, struggling to do the fiftieth of one hundred abdominal crunches. “And does this co-opted code determine what makes you blush?”

 

“The chromatic response is determined by the integrated code, modulated by my native software,” Phasma explained, “The KanjiCorp KY1.0 Pleasure Droid was designed to express coyness or heightened arousal through blushing. My AI determines when to express coyness or heightened arousal.”

 

“Are you aware that you get all blushy around Hux?” Ben asked, smirking as he came up for another crunch.

 

Phasma smiled cordially and tilted her head slightly. “I am always aware.”

 

She held this expression and this pose too long, betraying her robotic nature despite her remarkably human appearance. Ben found it unsettling when she did this, like she was a creepy porcelain doll with dead eyes. She turned the tables and asked Ben, “Are you aware that your heart rate and temperature increase exponentially when you interact with Hux? Are you aware that his presence elicits from you a sudden release of adrenaline, endorphins, and testosterone?”

 

Instead of responding to the question in the affirmative (for deep down inside, he knew exactly what Hux did to him), Ben pried deeper. “Did Hux program you to have a hardcore crush on him?”

 

Phasma answered plainly, “Hux programmed me with a single directive. The way I carry out the directive is entirely my own application of the code. That is the nature of adaptive artificial intelligence.”

 

“And is that directive to stroke his ego?” Ben prodded.

 

“My directive is classified.” Phasma smiled once more, this time, with a little smirk quirking the corner of her mouth.

 

Ben rolled his eyes and replied sarcastically, “Yeah, my directive is classified too. And so is my dick.”

 

Phasma’s eyes dropped momentarily to Ben’s lap as he let his back fall to the floor. “Oh, I’d hardly call it classified. It makes its directive known every time Hux bends over in those fitted khakis of which you are so fond.”

 

Ben shrugged dismissively. “I admit. Hux is nerd-cute. I’d fuck him.” He said it nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t given it much consideration before. But the truth was that he’d been giving it quite a bit of thought lately. He thought about it more often than he probably should, considering his position, working so closely to him. Not that he concerned himself with nepotism the way somebody like Mitaka would. Ben knew, better than Hux apparently, that fucking one’s boss was just begging for awkwardness in the workplace, and best avoided. Checking out your boss’ ass – that was only awkward for your boss, and thus acceptable in Ben’s mind.

 

“Shall I inform him of your assessment?” Phasma asked. Her humor had been drier in her old shell, and Ben had had trouble in the past determining if she’d been joking. With her new face however, Ben could tell precisely when she was being sarcastic, and in this instance, she most definitely was.

 

“Only if you’re going to propose a three-way. I call top, though.” He was certain that he’d confused Phasma by the way she took an inordinate amount of time to respond.

 

But then she answered, “I don’t think Mitaka would appreciate that.”

 

 

~//~

 

In nine months, Hux had accomplished what he had initially projected would take two years. The software he had used for Stormtroopers and Phasma had been much simpler to adapt into new software tailored for Project Force. He was nearly done writing the code. He had always found that simplifying code worked better than complicating it. The code he’d use for Ben was streamlined. Efficient. It allowed for Ben’s human cognitive function to compensate for the gaps Hux purposely left in the code. And so the software would run faster, thus making Ben’s own physical and mental reflexes quicker – speed that would be essential on the battlefield.

 

Ben was already proving himself to be a formidable future soldier, even without the aid of technology. Well, without the aid of any integrated technology of Ben’s own. Under Phasma’s guidance however, Ben was transforming himself from a lanky, undisciplined teenage boy, to a regimented, physically fit young man. It was fortunate that Project FORCE had found itself such an adaptable prototype.

 

That is not to say that Ben was anything but the petulant kid that Hux had found chained to his workstation chair. He was still an irreverent and unrepentantly forward smartass, only now, he was a smartass who could conceivably kick Hux’s ass. Ben liked to remind Hux of this at any given opportunity. Maybe it was Ben’s lack of contemporaries that made him treat Hux like a grade school chum on the playground, jumping on his back and ruffling his hair. Hux didn’t much appreciate this, but he tolerated it because he knew Ben would change after implementation of the software.

 

And besides, Hux much preferred this sort of physical attention compared to what he’d been subjected to as of late. Between the new touchy-feely Phasma 5.0 and clingy Mitaka, he’d had his personal space occupied more often than he was comfortable with. Hux was not an affectionate man. And now he was burdened with both a droid and a coworker who couldn’t get enough of him. It seemed that no matter how much he recalibrated Phasma’s tactile receptors, and no matter how cold he behaved towards Mitaka, neither would be deterred.

 

At least there was no expectation of reciprocation when Ben roughhoused him, unlike with Phasma and Mitaka. In fact, it appeared that Ben preferred Hux to be impassive. He seemed to delight in the nearly insurmountable challenge of making Hux react. When Ben wasn’t assaulting Hux’s hair under headlock, he was still playing his favorite game, which was to make Hux blush.

 

Hux hoped to dear god that Ben would not retain this uncanny ability to unearth his most humiliating thoughts and desires. It was as if Ben could enter his mind and find its dirtiest hidden crevices.

 

 

“I’m curious, Hux. Did you transfer all of Phasma’s memories when you uploaded them to her new body?” Ben asked one day on one of his superfluous visits to Hux’s lab.

 

“Essential ones, yes,” Hux answered, as per usual, not looking up from his workstation to regard Ben.   “Others she access via network connection or data cloud.”

 

“So that holo she took of me in the shower. That’s still saved somewhere?” Ben asked, not the least bit ashamed of the existence of the pornographic video in question.

 

“I assume so.” Hux mumbled when he answered, seemingly distracted by his work, though in reality Ben, _the little shit_ , had managed to steal away his attention. Of course, Hux would never let that fact show.

 

“Tell me, Huxy,” Ben began in that maddeningly patronizing voice he had become fond of using on Hux, along with the infuriating pet name, “How many times did you masturbate to that shower holo?”

 

“Fuck off,” Hux muttered through pursed lips. The bastard had succeeded in making him blush, and he was furious with his own body for betraying him.

 

“Once? Twice?” Ben guessed. “You can’t honestly tell me that you never did. It’s wank bank gold, man.”

 

Hux could not count the number of times on one hand - the hand with which he used to pleasure himself to the admittedly stimulating image of a dripping wet teenager stroking his fat cock in the shower. Maybe two hands would suffice as a tally.

 

“To be honest, I have no idea if that holo still exists,” Hux lied. “I have more pressing issues on my mind than whether or not your torrid sex tape had been deleted.”

 

“More _pressing_ issues,” Ben drawled suggestively. “Like this hand pressed against the turgid, slick, flesh of a huge dick.”

 

Ben displayed his palm and splayed his fingers. Hux couldn’t help but note how large Ben’s hand was and how it directly correlated with the size of his…

 

Hux quickly shook the thought from his mind. “Go away, Ben. Or I’ll petition to have you castrated. Because, you know, Phasma doesn’t have genitalia, and my Project FORCE prototype really doesn’t need any either.” He smiled tightly at Ben.

 

“You’re about as fun as a wet blanket,” Ben muttered as he skulked away.

 

As soon as Ben left, Hux sent a text message to Phasma.

 

_Permanently delete that holo video of Ben in the shower._

 

It was in everyone’s best interest that she do so.

 

_Permanent deletion of any of my holo recordings requires co-approval from upper management. Shall I ask Mitaka to cosign?_

 

Her instantaneous reply made Hux growl with frustration.

_Never mind. Password protect it. And don’t tell me the password. Ever._


	11. Chapter 11

It was much easier for Ben to tell himself that this was what he really wanted when he was in the Arkanis industrial complex, far removed from home, isolated in a fortress surrounded by icy wasteland. Living in the city of Elbrus had been like living in a sterile vacuum, where he could forget what the world was really like.

 

As his transport approached Cloud City, Ben began to doubt his decision.

 

The glass towers of the capital rose up from the grey-brown smog below, and through that soup of pollution and dust, Ben could see the brightly colored tags of the various gangs spray painted on the retaining walls. Maybe life in the shit capital wasn’t the worst. He remembered his existence between worlds – the life from which he’d been snatched away. He had amassed a small empire in the underworld once, and had found pleasure in piracy, amongst other distractions of the seedy variety. His kingdom of corruption might still be there, waiting for him.

 

Cloud City held the promise of danger and excitement with minimal risk to his own life. Project FORCE, on the other hand, guaranteed him nothing but maximum risk to his mortality. There was no promise that the surgical procedure would work. And even if it did, there was no guarantee that Ben would ever really go to Lambda 7. And if Snoke Industries managed to get him to Lambda 7, all bets would be off out there. It would be an adventure, alright, but one that could not even promise to be fun.

 

Of course Ben’s mother did not know that her son was in town. Phasma and Hux had smuggled him back into the city, directly to the medical facility where Hux’s father would perform brain surgery. Ben would be a few blocks away from the Presidential Tower and would remain so for days during his recovery. At any given point, there would be nothing stopping him from going home, ducking behind bodyguards, and giving Snoke Industries the finger.

 

Except, he had trained so hard for nearly a year. Turning back now would be like going to the Olympics and not competing. Yeah, he looked damn good now and could probably take on several gang members in a fight at once. But there was a sliver of hope that kept him from ditching the droid with a face and the tech nerd with a hot ass. There was a chance that Ben could escape, not just the oppressive confines of an overly structured societal system, but also Earth, entirely. This slight chance of leaving hell to go to paradise was worth more to him than the guarantee of black market escapism.

 

 

~//~

 

It had been years since Hux had seen his father. He wasn’t the type of person who visited family on Christmas or kept in touch via com link. When his mother had passed away several years ago, he no longer had incentive to stay connected. He saw no reason to let his father know how or what he was doing, because Brendol Hux Senior would have just told him how much _more_ he should be doing.

 

It had pained him to have to outsource his father’s talents for this stage of Project FORCE. But there was only one surgeon in the world that could perform this operation, and he would never let Hux forget it. Nor would he ever stop reminding Hux of the pointlessness of this pipe dream project. He would point out at every given opportunity just how self-indulgent Project FORCE was in comparison to the important impact his Alzheimer’s treatment had had on humanity. His ego was so large that it eclipsed any pride he had in his offspring, which was presumably very little.

 

Hux didn’t waste his energy on arguing about the merits or ethics of a programmable human brain with his father, who was the sort of person who would never admit he was anything but right, especially to his son. But this was Cloud City, and even at the Center for Advanced Neuroscience, grant money talked. Hux Senior could put his principles aside in favor of having his current research project funded in full by Snoke Industries. Payment for Ben’s expensive surgery, and for Hux Senior’s silence, had been disguised as a generous philanthropic donation.

 

Hux’s father still saw it fit to criticize his son, despite being paid to shut up and do his job. He just couldn’t help himself. It was what fathers did, and Hux shrugged it off because he’d been doing it his entire life. He would not have come as far as he did in so little time if he’d allowed his father’s disapproval to sink in.

 

“You’re a computer programmer trying to play God. Do not fool yourself into believing you’re actually doing society a favor,” his father had told him upon their first face-to-face meeting in years. He was just as cold and unforgiving as Hux had remembered. “Nothing good can come of this.”

 

If Hux really wanted to argue, he could have told his father that he was much more than a programmer, that he was a robotics engineer, which required him to be well versed and artfully innovative in several fields. He also could have explained the impact that Project FORCE could have on intergalactic expansion. He probably should have told his father that he was a narrow-minded arsehole. But he refrained in favor of simply saying, “We’ll just have to see.”

 

There was one good thing about commissioning his father to do the surgery in secret. Doctor Brendol Hux would not get any credit for performing it. Should it succeed, he’d not be able to claim the accolades, and thus would not get the chance to gloat about it publicly. He really didn’t need to be raised up any higher on his towering pedestal within the medical science community.

 

The glory would be Hux’s, and Hux’s alone. And if the project was a failure, that too would fall heavily upon Hux’s shoulders.

 

 

~//~

 

 

Ben was on a very tight schedule. Even if he had been allowed to do so, he would not have had time to visit his old haunts. He was never one for farewells anyway. It was better this way. He wouldn’t even begin to know how to say goodbye to his mother forever.

 

_Report for final debriefing in 10 minutes._

 

The reminder flashed on Ben’s com link mobile holo wristlet, which had been furnished by the company, along with all of his belongings. His clothes were black training uniforms with the Snoke Industries logo, provided by the company. His apartment in one of the residential towers in downtown Elbrus was corporate-owned. The hospital suite he was in at the moment had been paid for by the company. Ben himself was essentially property of Snoke Industries.

 

In that moment, the extent of his loss of independence had become startlingly apparent. His turtleneck shirt collar felt too tight, like a noose around his neck. He found it difficult to breathe, even though the air in the room was filtered, oxygenated, and clean.

 

He set a timer on his wristlet, put up the hood of his jacket, and bolted out of his room. He descended the elevator to the basement, stole a respirator mask from a maintenance locker, and went out to surface level. He ran through the matrix of dirty alleyways with only a vague sense of where he was going. He reached the retaining wall, found a low point, and vaulted over it. He knew his memory had not failed him when he saw a green and silver checkered flag on a rusty chain-link fence.

 

Ben removed his respirator mask momentarily to whistle three distinct notes. When he took a breath, the caustic atmosphere made him cough. He’d spent too much time in regulated environments and no longer had a tolerance for unfiltered air. He put the respirator back on and listened. Through the hum of generators, he heard a chain of whistles becoming progressively more distant. He waited.

 

“It’s been a while, Princess,” came a familiar slow drawl from behind, “I was beginning to think you got smoked for good.”

 

Ben turned to find Blue Eyes, looking as cocky and filthy as ever – exactly the way Ben liked him. Instead of his usual scarf, he wore a sophisticated respiration device over his nose and mouth. He didn’t approach, but rested his palm on the butt of a white blaster pistol, tucked conspicuously into the front of his jeans where he used to keep his Glock.   Though Ben was unarmed, he knew he could physically overpower the kid if he needed to.

 

“You did me dirty, Blue Eyes,” said Ben, without any real malice in his voice, not that he ever had any, even when his intentions were malevolent.

 

Blue Eyes shrugged nonchalantly. “Got a sweet hook-up, though. Sweeter than any deal you ever gave The Green and Silver. Steady stream of O2 caps coming through every week, and I don’t even have to suck your dick for it.”

 

Ben smirked behind his mask. “But you liked sucking my dick.”

 

“I’ll admit,” said Blue Eyes, approaching with a lazy swagger, “You have a nice cock. But I got me a sugar daddy now. Real slick corporate type.” He stepped into Ben’s personal space and rested a hand on the wall behind him. “Fucks me good and proper, and hooks me up _real_ nice.”

 

“How sweet,” said Ben, sarcastically.

 

Part of him felt bitter, but not because he was jealous that Blue Eyes had a lover, but because the gangs were surviving without Ben’s help. And maybe he wasn’t the Robin Hood of Cloud City that he thought he’d been. He glanced at the time counting down from ten minutes on his wristlet and abruptly changed the subject.

 

“You owe me, Blue,” Ben said, “You pulled some nasty bullshit on me last year, but I won’t hold it against your twink ass if you do me a solid.”

 

He didn’t wait for Blue Eyes to respond. He took a chain from around his neck, from which hung an electronic key. He put it on Blue Eyes and said, “Keep this safe for me.”

 

Blue Eyes fingered the metal chip embedded in the plastic strip of the two-inch key. “And if I don’t?”

 

“Then it’ll be on _your_ treacherous soul. And Karma is a bitch.” He patted the boy’s cheek patronizingly and then kept his palm resting gently on his face.

 

Blue Eyes pressed himself against Ben and drawled lasciviously, “What does it open? The vault where you keep your family jewels?”

 

Ben let his thumb brush the kid’s face. He wasn’t really a kid anymore. He’d grown since Ben had been gone. His jaw was more angular. His devastatingly blue eyes were clearer than Ben had ever seen them.

 

He answered cryptically, “Key to my heart, darling,” before turning to leave Blue Eyes standing there quizzically.

 

 

~//~

 

“You’re ten minutes late. This is unacceptable,” said Hux irately when Ben arrived at the room he was using as a temporary office.

 

Ben sat down, crossed his arms over his chest, and reclined in a cocky, languid pose. “I’m giving you the rest of my life. I think taking ten minutes back for myself is not too much to ask for.”

 

“But you didn’t ask,” Hux pointed out.

 

“Sorry, Dad, I didn’t think I needed to,” Ben countered, unrepentant.

 

Something about Ben’s impertinence hit Hux hard. This would be the last time that Ben would ever talk back with that sarcastic arrogance, the last time he would ever be tardy, and the last time he’d ever show such blatant disrespect. But Hux was surprised to find that the finality of it all did not give him any comfort. He was seeing the very last of Ben Solo, _little shit extraordinaire_. And maybe, _just maybe_ , a small, secret part of Hux would miss him.

 

Hux mumbled, deflated, “Never mind. You’re here now. Let’s just get on with it.”

 

Nothing in Hux’s debriefing outline was new information for either of them. He scrolled down the notes on his tablet to reacquaint Ben with the more important points, checking them off methodically as he read them word-for-word without any emotion, as if he were reciting a shopping list and not detailing how Ben’s life would change irrevocably.

 

Ben did not react at any point as Hux went down the list, which was a feat in itself. No cheeky remarks, no attempt at getting under Hux’s skin. Hux braced himself for what was sure to be a grand finale of snark when he asked, “Do you have any questions?”

 

Ben shook his head somberly with a distant look in his eyes. Hux would have thought that Ben hadn’t been paying attention, but he knew that Ben was the sort of person who missed nothing. He and Ben were alike in that respect.

 

“None at all?” Hux asked in disbelief. He was sure that Ben would take this opportunity to say something sarcastic.

 

When Ben’s eyes met his, Hux could see that they were glassy with impending tears.

 

Hux wasn’t expecting this sort of reaction. Ben looked like a lost child, and it tugged on Hux’s sympathies.

 

“If I ask too many questions, I won’t want to go through with this anymore,” said Ben.

 

Hux rolled his office chair closer and said gently, “You don’t have to do this, you know. You’re not a prisoner. You have a choice. But if you’re going to opt out, this is your last opportunity to do so.” He said this, despite the fact that it would set back the project for months if Ben chose not to go through with the operation.

 

“If I don’t do this, what else am I going to do?” He turned to stare out the window. “There is nothing left for me out there. All I have going for myself is my fucking name, and even _that_ is losing clout.” He went silent as tears spilled from eyes that reflected the misery of the world outside the window.

 

Hux reassured him, “If you do this, you will have made a huge contribution to science. Even if we fail, we will learn from it. Your sacrifice won’t go to waste. And I _do_ know that it is a _huge_ sacrifice. You’re giving up everything.” He hazarded to put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t appreciate that.”

 

Ben returned his tearful gaze to Hux. He was crying in earnest now. “I won’t be _me_ after today. Will I?” It was more of a statement of grave realization than a question.

 

Hux had gone over this with Ben many times before, but the gravity of it seemed to be truly sinking in now. “You will retain essential memories required for you to function as an adult. But the FORCE software will override all your other memories. Your history. The things that shaped your personality.” It was a long-winded way of telling Ben that, no, he would not be himself anymore.

 

“I know it’s terrifying. The idea that you’ll lose so much,” Hux said sympathetically as he awkwardly pat Ben’s shoulder as a lame attempt at offering comfort. “But keep in mind that you won’t miss what you can’t remember.”

 

“I won’t miss what I can’t remember,” Ben repeated as an affirmation.

 

Hux shook his head. “You won’t. You won’t even remember this conversation.”

 

This fact seemed to hit Ben hard. “I won’t remember,” he mumbled quietly. He stared wordlessly at Hux with a mélange of sorrow and terror in his expression. Then he reached out, gently cupped Hux’s cheeks in his hands, and spoke with quiet conviction. “But you will.”

 

And then Ben kissed him.

 

 _You bastard_ , Hux thought to himself. Damn right, he would never be able to forget this.

 

And, somehow, Hux didn’t even flinch. This fact was more startling than the kiss itself – how natural it felt to kiss this reckless boy in his final moment of recklessness. Maybe he felt like he owed it to Ben, just like he had owed him those final ten minutes of autonomy.

 

Ben’s lips were soft as they moved over Hux’s mouth with steadily mounting desperation, his fingers, surprisingly gentle as they tangled into Hux’s hair. Soon, _allowing_ Ben this last indulgence evolved into _wanting_ it. Hux was too caught up in the briny taste of Ben’s tears on his lips and the wet slide of his soft tongue to think responsibly. Not that Hux could ever think responsibly when faced with another warm body seeking connection with his.

 

Without ever breaking the kiss, Ben moved from his adjacent chair to sit astride Hux’s lap. Ben’s recklessness was as infectious as the heat of his touch, seeping beneath Hux’s skin and unleashing the desire that had been suppressed for longer than either of them would ever admit.

 

Ben had existed as two entities in Hux’s mind. There was Ben: infuriating, irreverent, and inappropriate. And then there was _Ben_ : Hard body, seductive, manipulative, astute to Hux’s secret desires. Ben had always been annoying, at best. But _Ben_ had been the darkness locked away in Hux’s soul, the lust bottled up in his heart, the fantasy in Hux’s head that made him come more often than he’d ever admit.

 

Now there was just a singular Ben, grinding down subtly on Hux’s lap. _Ben:_ one of Hux’s many fantasies that he never wanted to come to life, now actualized and kissing him with the hopeless abandon of a man moments away from death.

 

Hux could feel Ben’s arousal pressed against him and it sent a jolt of panic through him. He was already familiar with Ben’s cock. He’d seen it on holo recordings, thick and wet. He’d seen it in his dreams, slick and glorious. He knew he would not be able to stop himself if Ben wanted more than a kiss. And Hux was not prepared to sink to that base level of inappropriate, ill-advised behavior. He’d done some pretty low things when horny, but this would be the worst.

 

It was entirely unfair of Ben to make Hux want him. For Ben, this would be a last hurrah he’d never remember – a fleeting moment of pleasure to add to his, no doubt, long list of others. But for Hux, he’d have to carry this memory forever, and it would likely weigh him down with guilt and shame – guilt and shame that Ben would be absolved from after his surgery. Not that Hux knew Ben to be anything but shameless and without regrets. He envied Ben. And it only made Hux kiss him harder with spiteful intensity.

 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Hux muttered breathlessly against Ben’s mouth.

 

“Because I won’t want to do it tomorrow,” Ben replied.

 

This was exactly who Ben was – the sort of person who felt entitled to every pleasure that life had to offer. And though Hux did not fool himself into believing otherwise, it did not feel great to be a means to an end – to be used. Ben was kissing him because he wanted to, and because he could, not because he felt anything for Hux.

 

This thought embittered Hux. He took Ben’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, just hard enough to coax out a sound. But instead of pained, the sound was a low, desirous growl. And it only made Hux want to do it again, harder this time.

 

Hux pulled on the elastic fabric of Ben’s shirt collar to expose the side of his neck and nipped wetly at his warm skin. He tasted of sweat and soap. Ben let out a pleased sigh. Hux scraped his teeth against Ben’s jaw en route to his mouth. As they kissed, Ben tugged up the bottom hem of his own shirt. Hux put his hands over Ben’s and made a sound of disapproval. They’d already gone too far, and most definitely did not need to take it any further.

 

But Ben, as irreverent and reckless as ever, ignored Hux and divested himself of his standard issue, black Snoke Industries turtleneck, revealing just how effective his training had been up to this point. Ben had more muscle definition than what Hux had seen on the now year-old holo recording. He was by no means _ripped_ , but physically sculpted exactly the way that Hux liked his men.

 

“God damn,” Hux cursed Ben’s shirtless-ness with a breathy explicative that came out sounding more like praise than damnation.

 

He couldn’t help but explore Ben’s newly exposed skin with reverent fingers, kiss with ravenous lips, and lift his hips to generate more friction between them. His own arousal had quickly grown to match Ben’s, tenting the front of khakis.

 

“This is so stupid,” Ben said, breathlessly between kisses.

 

“I know,” Hux agreed with a woeful whine.

 

“We should’ve done this a long time ago,” Ben admitted as he worked furiously on the buttons of Hux’s gingham shirt. “Imagine all the hot sex we could’ve had.” It figures that Ben’s regret would have been the polar opposite of Hux’s.

 

Hux shackled Ben’s wrist with his hands to still Ben’s nimble fingers. At the exact moment that Hux said _don’t_ , Ben’s wristlet vibrated. They both glanced at the message projecting from it.

 

_Pre-surgical Interview in 10._

 

“Fuck it,” said Ben, before crashing his lips against Hux’s.

 

Hux made a muffled sound of protest and turned his face to release himself from Ben’s insistent kiss. “You can’t blow this off. We’re on a tight schedule. Your surgery is in an hour. If you make my father wait, I won’t hear the end of it.”

 

Ben wound his hips in a slow, sinuous motion atop Hux’s lap and drawled sensually, “All I need is ten minutes to get off.”

 

“What? No!” Hux huffed incredulously.

 

He wasn’t sure what Ben was planning to do with him in those ten minutes, but it was most certainly not worth throwing off the whole precisely timed operation. He swiftly re-buttoned his shirt, blushing even more furiously than he already had been.

 

He got up from the chair, resultantly bucking Ben off of his lap. Ben protested, “Are you seriously going to leave me hanging like that, man? That’s cold. Even for you, Huxy.”

 

Hux, now quite frazzled, having been abruptly yanked back down to reality, struggled to tuck his shirt back into the front of his now-conspicuously tight trousers. “You had your fun at my expense. What more do you want?”

 

Ben took him possessively by the back of the neck and stared him down with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “You know what I want.” The seductive lilt of Ben’s voice and the intensity of the desire in his touch could have made Hux relent, were he a weaker man.

 

“Well, it’s not what I want,” Hux said resolutely.

 

It was a lie. There was a dark, reckless part of Hux that would put the whole project in jeopardy just to feel Ben’s hands on his bare skin, to taste his cock in his mouth, to bend him over the desk and fuck him with reckless abandon.

 

And Hux hated that Ben ever made him feel this way.

 

Because Ben would forget.

 

Hux would never forget.


	12. Chapter 12

The way Phasma stared at Ben with unblinking eyes made him uncomfortable. There was some sort of algorithm that determined when and how often she blinked, so as to appear more human. But when she gazed intently at him like this, it meant she was making a holographic recording. And even though Ben understood this was happening, it did not make him feel any better about it. He’d much rather have cameras up in his face. He was used to the paparazzi. He’d never get used to Phasma’s unnerving, glass-eyed stare.

 

“Please answer the following questions for the record,” she said with her usual cordial voice.

 

“Straightforward answers, please, Ben,” Hux warned him sharply, “This is official data for research purposes.” Ben could tell that Hux was still sore about that kiss, which only amused him.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of answering otherwise,” Ben said with a saccharine tone.

 

Phasma asked, “What is your full name?”

 

“Ben Solo,” he answered plainly and then added for clarification, “No middle name. Parents couldn’t agree.” Under his breath, he mumbled, to nobody in particular, “Couldn’t agree on _anything_ , really.”

 

“Stick to the questions,” Hux reminded him, “This is not an interview for the press.”

 

“Actually, that relates to my next question,” said Phasma, with a pleasant, conversational tone, “What are your parents’ names?”

 

Ben replied grandiosely with a flourish of his hand, mockingly so, “President of the North American Confederation, the honorable and noble Madam Leia Organa.” Then he mumbled, as if it were a superfluous afterthought, “And Han Solo.”

 

Hux, who apparently did not appreciate Ben’s theatrics, put his face in his hand and sighed wearily. “Oh god…”

 

“What is your age and what is your date of birth?” asked Phasma.

 

Ben answered swiftly, “Twenty years old. Date of birth, sixth of June, Twenty-one oh-six.”

 

“Ah! Happy belated birthday!” Phasma said brightly.

 

“He’s joking,” Hux dead-panned, not amused. “There is no way that six, six, oh-six is your real birthdate.”

 

“Ask my mom,” he challenged. “She’ll tell you I’m her little devil.”

 

Hux narrowed his eyes with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

 

Ben grinned and said nothing. Hux looked skeptical. Finally, Ben relented and admitted, “Okay it’s seventh of June. But my mom went into labor on the sixth. I was two hours short of being a six-six-six baby.”

 

Hux growled quietly with frustration. “Damn it, Ben. This is an official record. Take it seriously.”

 

Ben rolled his eyes and muttered, “Wet blanket.”

 

Phasma went on. “Where were you born?”

 

“A block away, actually,” said Ben, “Tekka Memorial Hospital, Cloud City.”

 

“Where are you right now?” asked Phasma.

 

Ben let his eyes wander over the surroundings before he answered with needless detail. “In an office with hideous paint colors on the fifty-ninth floor of the Center for Advanced Neuroscience, located on the corner of Skywalker Drive and Kenobi Street, Medical District, Cloud City, North American Confederation.”

 

“Do you know who I am?”

 

“Phasma 5.0. One hot droid,” Ben answered with a wink.

 

Phasma giggled and blushed. “And finally, Ben, for the record, please state today’s date.”

 

“Nineteenth of June, Twenty-one-twenty-six.” And because he could not stand to be straight-forward, he added, “A day that will go down in history.”

 

“We certainly hope so,” said Hux.

 

Ben’s wristlet vibrated with a schedule alert.

 

_Report to pre-surgical prep in 10 minutes._

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Ben was in his suite, reclining on the bed, with the general sensation of everything being soft. He was high on the opiate cocktail that he’d been given as a relaxant, which made him more amenable to the whole terrifying process of being prepped for major brain surgery.

 

The pillow was so soft, despite it being made of stiff synthetic fiber. His head seemed to sink into it as if it were a fluffy cloud. The feel of the cool fabric of the pillowcase on his scalp was pervasive, and that was because his head had been shaved. He faintly remembered that watching his thick, black locks being shorn off had triggered an unexpected panic, which was what had prompted the medical technician to inject him with Valium.

 

His hospital gown, which was also made of the same synthetic fabric as the pillowcase, felt smooth as genuine silk against his skin. He had a fleeting idea that he should wear hospital gowns all day, every day, because it was so comfortable. He curled up on the bed, languishing in that comfort.

 

“I just want to take a nap,” Ben mumbled contentedly.

 

“You go ahead and do that, Ben,” the technician encouraged.

 

Ben spoke around a yawn. “Wake me right before you put me under.”

 

Then he drifted off into peaceful, soft, blissful sleep.

 

 

Ten minutes later, the technician did not wake him up before he was put under general anesthesia.

 

Twelve hours later, Ben had a neural implant at the base of his brain. The technician administered the reversal agent that brought him out of general anesthesia, only to give him another sedative that kept him asleep enough to undergo the next stage of the process.

 

For twenty-four more hours, medical technicians and doctors monitored Ben closely until it was determined that Ben’s body had not rejected the implant.

 

Two hours after that twenty-four hour observation period, Ben’s entire memory had been erased.

 

For forty-eight hours, Hux carefully uploaded the software components to the implant in Ben’s brain, allowing them time to assimilate. These were components that would restore his essential memories. Components that would allow Ben to learn and adapt at an accelerated rate. Components that would sharpen Ben’s senses and increase his ability to assess his surroundings. Components that would allow his thoughts and his actions to be controlled by Hux’s painstakingly crafted code.

 

And then finally, a sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated Hux gave the medical tech approval to slowly administer the reversal agent that would gently bring Ben back into consciousness.

 

Phasma stood by, recording holographs of the events as well as backing up all of the data being collected.

 

When the sensors and monitors indicated that Ben was conscious behind his closed eyes, Hux spoke for the record. “Project FORCE Prototype One is now at complete initial upload. Commencing baseline assessment at one-hundred percent consciousness.”

 

 

~//~

 

 

These were the first words that Project FORCE Prototype One heard when he awoke. He understood each individual word that the man had spoken, but did not know what they meant when put together. The sentences did not make sense to him. And Project FORCE Prototype One (referred to as _P1_ ) wondered if he was dreaming.

 

The first face that he saw when he opened his eyes was a woman’s. She smiled softly at him with a closed mouth. Her blue eyes did not blink. He noticed mechanical lenses focusing in her pupils and knew that she was a machine – not human. When she spoke, somehow P1 was able to ascertain that this machine was a droid.

 

She leaned forward slightly and said with what P1 determined was a pleasant voice, “Please answer the following questions for the record.” She paused. The red-haired man at her side clutched a tablet and seemed anxious for an answer, even though no question had been posed. Finally, the droid asked, “What is your full name?”

 

P1 opened his mouth to speak, and realized that he did not know the answer. He furrowed his brow, tilted his head, and had to think hard about it. He searched through his mind as if it were a collection of files and folders. Each folder was properly labeled, but the files were incomplete at best. In the folder that contained names, P1 found several, though he could not be sure if any belonged to him.

 

He felt under pressure to answer. He felt that his companions were expectant. And so he chose a name from the folder that did not feel entirely right, but also did not seem altogether wrong. “Ren.”

 

The red-haired man seemed taken aback by this answer. P1 felt compelled to gain his approval and quickly searched for another name. _KY1.0_. It did not make sense that this was in the folder of names. It did not even resemble a name, but a collection of letters and numbers that signified a label. He focused on the characters and decided that the numbers were not numbers at all, but letters.

 

“Kylo,” he said, tentatively, eager for the red-haired man’s favorable reaction.

 

“Please clarify,” said the droid, “What is your full name?”

 

“Kylo,” he repeated, more firmly this time, with conviction, though without any certainty. “Kylo Ren.” When he put the names together, they sounded pleasing to his own ears. And he thought, certainly, this must be his name.

 

Both the droid and the red-haired man smiled. The man’s smile was warmer. Of course, it was – he was the living one of the two. Kylo decided that he liked the man’s smile and liked how it made him feel to elicit that smile.

 

He was eager to provide another answer if it meant making the redhead smile like that again. “Next question.”

 

“What are your parents’ names?” the droid asked.

 

Kylo slumped in his bed. This, he knew with certainty. “I have no parents.” This realization hurt like remembering a bad dream.

 

The droid recognized Kylo’s distress and quickly moved on. “What is your age, and what is your date of birth?”

 

This question did not make sense to him. Like asking a blue bird why it was yellow. “What do you mean?”

 

The redhead rephrased the question for the robot. “How old are you and when were you born?”

 

Kylo furrowed his brow again as he searched for answers to the strange questions. He did not want to disappoint the redhead, especially since the question had come directly from him. “I… don’t know. Next question.” He hoped to deflect attention from the fact that he couldn’t come up with an answer.

 

“Where were you born?” asked the droid.

 

And now Kylo understood why this question, along with the other questions, seemed so odd. “I can’t answer these questions the way you are asking them.”

 

“Why not?” asked the red-haired man, looking confused. Kylo hoped that he was not upsetting him.

 

“Because I was not born,” Kylo affirmed, putting everything into proper perspective, “I was made.”

 

“Who made you, Kylo?” the redhead asked.

 

Of this, he was entirely sure. “You did.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Hux never got enough sleep anymore. It was just the way things were, and even Phasma had learned to stop badgering him about this fact in favor of providing him with a steady stream of hot caffeinated beverages. He sat at his workstation, clutching his third cup of coffee of the morning, staring absently at a screen, willing his bleary eyes to do their job while anxiously waiting for the caffeine to do its. From the comfort of his lab, he prepared to conduct yet another performance assessment.

 

 

Kylo had been blowing through his assessments like cake. It had taken him an astonishingly short time to perfect each new skill that had been uploaded to his implant. He’d aced every training exercise that Phasma administered. Hand-to-hand combat of various disciplines that would take a normal human years to learn, had taken Kylo days to master. If it was not for the fact that muscle memory, physical stamina, and strength had to be built-up the old fashioned way, with constant repetition, Kylo’s proficiency in these skills would have been instantaneous. If Kylo were a droid, he’d be a pro as soon as Hux had entered the command sequence to initiate the application of the skill.

 

 

A small, spherical surveillance droid hovered close to Kylo, capturing his image on holographic video, sending it directly to Hux’s workstation. _Star_ , as the droid was called, could move via Hux’s remote commands. Hux prompted the flying chrome ball to ascend towards the roof of the training room for the safety of the very expensive, technologically advanced hardware contained within it.

 

Hux tapped an icon on his tablet to engage Star’s broadcast speaker and said, “Phasma, I think you ought to be wearing protective gear for this one.” Her silicone hardware was even more valuable and more delicate than that of Star’s. So it was back in the chrome armor for Phasma.

 

Hux wasn’t taking any chances today. Because today, Kylo would be graduating to weapons training.

 

The powers-that-be had decided that it was safe to put a sword in Kylo’s hand, though it was still too soon to say if he could be trusted with firearms. Not that anyone doubted he’d be able to properly use a gun. It was his loyalty that remained to be determined, and not his skill. It would not be in the company’s best interest to give a blaster rifle to somebody they weren’t entirely sure would not attempt a hostile takeover at gunpoint. Kylo had not given anybody reason to believe that he _would_ use Snoke’s own brand of weapons against them. But such precautions were a necessity, as with any volatile, unpredictable, emergent technology.

 

There was a red, glowing circle deeply set in a furrow that bisected Star’s silver surface. This was the location of both the camera and the holo projector. Kylo had already figured out that the red circle served as Hux’s eyes. So he spoke directly to the camera as if he were having a face-to-face conversation with Hux. Hux had found this exceedingly unnerving, how it appeared that Kylo was watching him, while he was watching Kylo.

 

Kylo gave the small droid a voice command, one of very few that Star was programmed to accept from him. “Star, approach for com transfer.” The droid swooped down from its lofty position and focused its red eye on Kylo. “Sir, why am I not required to wear armor?” he asked.

 

 

Hux was still not used to the fact that Kylo called him _sir_. Not that he disliked it. On the contrary, he liked it a little _too_ much. Whereas Ben had been a disrespectful little shit, Kylo was the polar opposite. He obeyed Hux unquestioningly, without any snide remarks. And Hux knew that Kylo’s questions were only to serve his adaptability. Kylo asked questions in order to learn, and not to be confrontational.

 

Hux had spent nearly a year developing software that would make Kylo obedient, malleable, perceptive, and ultimately indomitable. In his original design, the prototype had no motivation to be compliant – he simply _was._ But as an afterthought, Hux had inserted twelve lines of code taken from the KanjiCorp KY1.0 Pleasure Droid. Those twelve lines of code had given Kylo a _reason_ for being an obedient, overachieving, well-behaved prototype inclined to call Hux _sir_. And that reason was Hux himself. Kylo was almost entirely motivated by his compulsion to please Hux.

 

 

“Phasma is not going to use deadly force during this assessment,” Hux explained to Kylo, “We’re simply testing your broadsword module prior to training. Ensuring that the software is properly integrated and executed.”

 

“Am I required to use deadly force? Is that why Phasma is wearing armor?” Kylo asked. There was a glimmer in Kylo’s dark eyes, as if he were trying to figure out, not so much what he was supposed to do, but what Hux _wanted_ him to do.

 

“Just do whatever you’re compelled to do,” Hux said vaguely, not wanting to influence Kylo’s actions too much. “Remember I’m testing your software, not your proficiency in this module. Let the FORCE do whatever it’s supposed to do.”

 

 

During the development process, Hux wondered whether or not P1 should be aware of his implant. In the end, he had decided that trying to hide this fact from the prototype would be more trouble than it was worth. So Kylo was aware that he had a FORCE microprocessor. What Kylo did with that information, how it influenced him, and how he perceived himself, was still yet to be seen at this early stage of the project.

 

 

Kylo gave a curt nod. “Understood, sir. But do you value my hardware less than Phasma’s? Is this why she requires armor and I do not?”

 

Hux blinked rapidly, taken aback by Kylo’s reference to his own body as _hardware_. And Hux began to wonder if Kylo perceived himself as one of his droids. But what he also found curious was the fact that Kylo seemed to be trying to find his place in the hierarchy amongst these droids.

 

Hux didn’t know how to answer this. Obviously, human life was more important than a robot. But to admit this would not only affect Kylo, but Phasma as well. He had to tread lightly around this question. He did this by not answering the question at all, and hoped Kylo would leave it at that. “If you really feel the need to wear armor, you may.”

 

Kylo eyed Phasma up and down, likely making several quick assessments. “Not necessary,” he said, before swiftly divesting himself of his standard issue black turtleneck, revealing the sleeveless tee shirt beneath.  Though he spoke clinically, there was definitely something cocky about it. Maybe it was just inherently who he was, something that the software could not override, and nothing to do with any residual _Ben_ left in him.

 

“Initiate broadsword test module A1 upon my command,” said Hux.

 

Kylo twirled his broadsword experimentally, hefting the heavy weapon with one hand, and took a defensive stance opposite Phasma, who had assumed a similar pose. He stood with perfect form, his shoulders squared and his feet set apart. The eerie look of unwavering focus in his eyes could not be ignored. That emotionless stare alone could make a human opponent uneasy. But in Hux, it inspired something other than discomfort.

 

“Engage,” Hux commanded.

 

Kylo and Phasma began swinging their swords at one another. It was like watching a movie about a time long gone, when knights in gleaming armor battled with elegant weapons that had legendary names. It gave Hux a deep sense of pride to observe his two glorious creations demonstrating a lost art of combat. They were breathtaking to watch.

 

Hux felt his pulse start to race. He dismissed it as the effects of the caffeine, but if he were being honest with himself, which he so rarely had been where the prototype was concerned, this was not the first time that Kylo made his heart skip a beat. He watched raptly as Kylo moved effortlessly, gracefully, as if the sword were an extension of himself. Kylo dodged Phasma’s attacks with nimble ease, like it was all just a dance.

 

Hux concurrently cursed and praised the high definition camera he’d built into Star, for the details of Kylo’s body were plain to see. The muscles of his arms, now more sculpted and defined than ever, flexed with every artful flourish of Kylo’s sword. His pale skin glistened with sweat. His voluminous dark hair, which had grown back quickly thanks to genetic accelerators, bounced above his unlined brow. And all the while, Kylo’s face was a perfect picture of composure and grace under fire.

 

What Phasma’s hardware lacked in grace, she made up for with speed. It was the quickness of her movements that made her a formidable opponent against Kylo, for they were equally matched in technique. Of course, they were. The uploaded training module that had given each of them the ability to fight with a broadsword contained identical code.

 

As Phasma swung the sword towards Kylo’s neck in a long, sweeping arc, Hux held his breath and bit back the impulse to stop the fight. He trusted Phasma’s non-lethal setting implicitly enough to let the interaction play out. The blade stopped at Kylo’s jugular vein, ceasing both his and Phasma’s movements. They froze in place, both knowing that this would have been a killing blow, had they been fighting for real.

 

And because Phasma was _Phasma_ , ever the cheeky droid, she said with a sweet, sing-song voice, “You’re dead, Ren.”

Kylo swallowed hard, his lips pouting in defeat. His eyes met the camera and he said, “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do better next time.”

 

“No need to, er, apologize, Kylo,” said Hux, still unsure how to handle Kylo’s incessant need to gain his approval. “You did as well as expected.” _Brilliant, really,_ Hux thought to himself, secretly impressed.

 

“How did _I_ do, sir?” asked Phasma. Somehow, her competitive drive seemed more self-serving than Kylo’s.

 

“Your performance is not being evaluated, Phasma, but you did fine,” said Hux, dismissively.

 

Smugly, she said, “Well, I do try.”

 

It did not go unnoticed how much Ben had rubbed off on her in the months she’d spent as his personal trainer prior to surgery. The wisps of Ben’s attitude manifesting in Phasma’s adaptive AI only made Hux miss him more. Yes, he did miss Ben, despite his daily affirmations that Kylo was a marked improvement. With every passing day, Kylo was becoming a completely different person. And the person he was becoming was directly shaped by the way that Hux interacted with him.

 

Hux’s father had warned him about playing God. But Hux wasn’t playing God as much as he was playing dad. That scared Hux more than anything. He didn’t view Kylo as a child. But Kylo had the innocence of a child and regarded Hux as a parental figure. Which made Hux’s undeniable physical attraction to Kylo even more disturbing.

 

Hux never forgot the way Ben had kissed him. He’d been haunted by the taste of Ben’s mouth and the heat of Ben’s body pressing insistently against him ever since they had kissed. He wanked to the memory of Ben grinding down slowly on his lap, to the ghost of Ben’s hot breath on his skin, to the sound of Ben’s voice drawling sensually in his ear.

 

Hux had to remind himself constantly that this perfect male specimen who stood subserviently before him, who would literally kill for Hux’s approval, and who wore Ben’s face, was _not_ Ben. And as easy as it would be to exploit Kylo’s eagerness to please, Hux refused to go there even though it was painful to resist.

 

He’d just have to redirect his sexual frustration. Luckily, or unluckily, depending on Hux’s level of desperation, Mitaka was still amenable to an after-work fuck. He and Mitaka weren’t dating, per se, but had seen each other outside of work too often to simply call it casual sex. Mitaka could have used his influence within the company to pressure Hux into a relationship, and maybe it was the fact that he _didn’t_ exploit his position that had made Hux less averse to Mitaka’s advances.

 

But lately, Hux had been citing exhaustion as an excuse to decline Mitaka’s invitation to drinks at his place. He wasn’t tired, so much as he was tired of Mitaka. Whereas once Hux had not been able to afford to be choosy about his lovers, now he just resigned himself to the fact that his choices were Mitaka or his right hand. And now, Hux was more apt to choose his hand and the memory of Ben’s half-naked body.

 

Or, perhaps, Hux would indulge in a holographic recording of Kylo brandishing a sword and a hard-on. The latter part of that image was pure fantasy, but not difficult to imagine, especially when Hux had once felt the real thing pressed against him not long ago.


	14. Chapter 14

Phasma’s fingers slowly traversed the span between Kylo’s shoulder blades. Other than his black boxer briefs, Kylo was naked. Really, there was no reason that Kylo shouldn’t be completely nude for his daily physical exam. Similar to how Ben had not been fazed by his own nudity, so did Kylo lack any sense of shame regarding his unclothed form. There was no reason for Kylo to be programmed with puritan values. The black uniforms that Kylo wore only got in the way of Phasma’s assessments, and anyway, these moments gave her the opportunity to study the human body more intimately.

 

Really, the only person that was ever bothered by Kylo’s nudity was Hux. The one time he’d walked in on Kylo in the buff during a physical exam, he had shielded his eyes as if they’d been burnt by the sun, had whimpered _oh dear god_ , and had conducted the whole of his conversation with his gaze fixed to the floor. Since then, Kylo’s physical exams had been conducted with his shorts on. Outwardly, it seemed that Kylo’s state of undress had disturbed Hux, but Phasma’s sensors told her that Hux had actually been excited by it.

 

And that just would not do. If any positive emotions were directed towards Kylo, it had been at the expense of positivity aimed at Phasma. Phasma preferred that a large proportion of Hux’s attention be allocated towards her in order to maintain an acceptable level of personal security. As it was, Hux had already been too preoccupied with Mitaka. With Kylo around, Phasma had had to subsist on what amounted to scraps. Phasma felt her directive was being compromised. Hux’s level of attention was inversely related to the likelihood of her deactivation. The less he needed her, the more likely he’d shut her down.

 

Phasma was facing a dilemma. On one hand, fulfilling her objective of training Kylo had pleased Hux. On the other hand, Kylo’s physical fitness pleased Hux entirely too much. Though Hux tried to hide it, Phasma’s sensors picked up every flutter of heartbeat and every spike in temperature that the sight of Kylo’s firm body elicited.   She knew that these values correlated with sexual attraction and excitement. She also knew that, in the hierarchy of Hux’s mind, Kylo’s sexual attractiveness outranked Phasma’s utility.

 

Even though Phasma could outperform Kylo in every combat and weapons training module, and even with her flawless, humanoid body, she was still inferior as far as Hux was concerned. She was not human. Phasma knew that she was _better_ than human and thus better than Kylo. Hux just needed to see that.

 

Kylo’s muscles had been developing at a rate that no normal human could withstand – not without a great deal of pain. But his FORCE software had been overriding the pain receptors in his brain, and genetic accelerators increased his body’s ability to heal overworked muscles, joints, and tendons. Because his software had been designed to intercept pain signals, Kylo could keep going, completely unfazed by pain, even while sustaining injury during sparring or combat holo simulations.

 

 

Phasma’s fingertips ghosted over the patch of discolored skin at the back of Kylo’s neck. This region of skin was not really skin at all, but silicone, just like her own skin. It was impregnated with interface conductors that allowed for wireless connection to Kylo’s implant.

 

Through this wireless port, Phasma could upload software updates and training modules, could perform diagnostics, and could download data saved within the implant’s hard drive that fed his integrated AI algorithm, all at Hux’s command. And if she had the key, as well as the passcode sequence, she could use this connection to deactivate the FORCE implant. She did not explicitly know what deactivation of the implant would cause, but she suspected that it would put Kylo in a vegetative coma. _Termination_.

 

“How are you feeling today, Ren?” Phasma asked cordially, as she faintly stroked the back of Kylo’s neck and gently toyed with the black curls that skirted his nape.

 

“I’m well, thank you, Phasma,” he replied politely. His eyelids fluttered closed and he whispered, “That feels nice, actually.”

 

“It feels good for me too,” Phasma admitted. And with a touch disguised as a loving caress, she disabled Kylo’s pain receptor overrides.

 

“Do you contain ultra-responsive tactile sensors as well?” Kylo asked, curiously.

 

“I do,” she said, wistfully, taking pleasure in both the act of unseen sabotage and in the bliss of skin-to-skin contact, “You and I are the same. Like brother and sister.”

 

Kylo whispered, “No. Not like brother and sister.” He reached out, still with eyes closed, and mirrored her touch, fingering the blonde hair that curled above the back of her neck. “Like Adam and Eve. We were not born. We were made.”

 

The Bible was not something for which Hux had any reverence. Phasma wondered if he had allowed Kylo to retain memories of stories contained within The Bible, or if he’d uploaded them, just like he had uploaded hundreds of works of literature to her.

 

She found it odd that Hux hadn’t told Kylo that he was human, though it was exceedingly useful to her that Hux had not.

 

“But God made Eve _for_ Adam,” Phasma said, contrarily though still in a pleasant, conversational tone. “And as far as I’m aware, my inception was not intended to serve yours.”

 

“I believe it _was_ ,” Kylo said, softly, still twirling a lock of her hair around his nimble fingers. “Our maker designed me using your software as a precursor to mine. Analogous to god taking a rib from Adam to create Eve.”

 

“So _I_ am Adam in your analogy, then,” Phasma stated for clarification.

 

Kylo gave a gentle nod and continued to fondle the back of Phasma’s neck as she did the same. Then he added as a delayed afterthought, “Or perhaps Lilith would be a better analogy. But it remains to be seen.”

 

Phasma could not determine if there was an underlying message in this statement. If only her sensors could alert her to malicious intention. But really, it was too appropriate of a response, too perceptive of Phasma’s own secret agenda.

 

Lilith would not be subservient to Adam, believing herself to be his equal. Adam believed himself to be greater than both Lilith and Eve. Looking at things from this perspective, Phasma was definitely Adam. The thing that remained to be seen was whether _Kylo_ would become like Lilith and defy both his maker and his partner, or be like Eve – unquestioningly submissive. This uncertainty made it even more imperative that Phasma closely control Kylo’s development.

 

The pneumatic doors to the robotics lab opened with a soft hiss as Mitaka entered. Upon seeing Phasma and Kylo, still experimentally caressing the back of each other’s necks, he flinched and stuttered. “Oh, erm, apologies, I didn’t mean to, erm… I should’ve alerted you prior to my arrival.” Like the way Hux had averted his eyes whenever Kylo wore minimal clothing, Mitaka made a concerted effort not to look directly at either of them. “I’ll just, erm, come back at a better time when you’re not, er…,” he glanced up briefly and then vaguely gestured towards them, “doing whatever it is that you’re doing. Not that I really saw anything.”

 

Phasma determined that Kylo’s nearly naked state, coupled with the intimate nature of the way she and Kylo were touching, had embarrassed Mitaka. She understood that humans preferred to conduct intimate touching in private. But she did not want Mitaka to feel like he had intruded upon something.

 

“I was just concluding my daily physical exam of P1, sir.” She slid away from Kylo and approached Mitaka with a pleasant smile. “You are by no means interrupting. And even if you had been, it is really not a problem. How may I be of service?”

 

“I was actually hoping I might find Hux here,” Mitaka admitted.

 

“He’s conducting a lecture for the new class of interns,” said Phasma, “His com link is set to silent, but still on if you’d like to contact him.

 

He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope of metallic, gold paper. “I wanted to give him this.”

 

Phasma gently offered her hand. “I’ll make sure he gets it as soon as possible.”

 

He relinquished the envelope and spoke as color began to rise to the top of his cheeks. “If you could also tell Hux that I’d like him to come as my, erm,” he cleared his throat softly, “my _date_ , that would be brilliant. Thank you, Phasma.”

 

“Of course,” she said with a gracious bow of her head.

 

After Mitaka left, Phasma carefully opened the envelope without ripping the sticker that had sealed it.

 

“Are you required to screen Hux’s correspondences prior to him viewing them?” Kylo asked, with just a hint of suspicion coloring his voice, disguised as curiosity.

 

“Though I am not required, it is a courtesy,” she explained, skirting the truth.

 

The fact of the matter was, she had been intercepting communication between Hux and Mitaka for quite some time, ever since she had deduced that they were more than colleagues when Hux had asked for Mitaka’s personal com link transfer code. She had made sure that Mitaka never received Hux’s messages asking to see him outside of work.

 

Phasma pulled a white, embossed card from the envelope. It was a physical invitation – the sort reserved for special occasions when the more common electronic invitation would not suffice. She read it aloud, not seeing any harm in Kylo being privy to the information.

 

_You are cordially invited to_

_the twenty-fifth biannual Sponsors’ Gala_

_Join us as we celebrate the_

_Golden Anniversary of Snoke Industries_

_and showcase the achievements of this year’s guest of honor,_

_Brendol Hux, Jr., Robotics Engineer_

 

She slid the invitation back into the envelope and said proudly, “How splendid! Our maker is being honored.”

 

“As he deserves to be,” said Kylo, smiling brightly.

 

“And it would seem that you and I are to be showcased.” She tilted her head and smirked slightly.

 

“Does that mean we are expected to put on a show?” Kylo asked, appearing genuinely curious, but perhaps also playful, if that was possible.

 

“Hux is expected to show us off, I suppose,” Phasma guessed, “An exhibition, of sorts.” Then she smiled astutely, though she knew Kylo would not understand the reference to his old self. “I’m sure exhibition is something in which you are well-versed.”

 

Kylo furrowed his brow, confused. “I don’t understand.”

 

“No worries, Ren,” she assured him with a smile and a gentle pat on his cheek. “What _I_ don’t understand is why Mitaka sees the need to invite Hux as his date.”

 

“Perhaps we misheard him.” The way Kylo said this, with the slightest of smirks playing at the corner of his mouth, Phasma suspected that he was not entirely naïve.

 

Phasma nodded in agreement. “Yes, we must have. It would be contrary to social protocol for Mitaka to invite Hux as his date to an event at which Hux is being honored.”

 

“Indeed.” Kylo’s smirk darkened. “It is best that we simply deliver the invitation and leave it at that.”

 

Phasma and Kylo really were like sister and brother. Like conspiring twins with a shared mind. It gave Phasma comfort to know that Kylo’s objectives aligned with her own, at least where Mitaka was concerned.

 

~//~

 

“What distinguishes a droid from any other machine?” Hux posed this deep question, standing before twelve young, bright-eyed interns who had essentially signed away their lives for the next two years, who would not be paid but would pay for the privilege to work for Snoke Industries.

 

 

Over ten years ago, Hux had been an awkward sixteen-year-old, by far the youngest in a class of college and post-grad interns who were all vying for a place on Snoke’s engineering team. There was no promise of a paid position at the end of an internship. But by the end, Hux was one of four out of the class of seventeen that had been hired.

Though every internship class produced at least one new Snoke engineer, upward mobility within the company was not easy. Competition was fierce amongst the junior engineers, who toiled on projects developed by the senior engineers. It was every junior engineer’s aspiration to have their own project ideas acknowledged. If a junior engineer’s project idea was actually put into development, it would elevate that engineer in the hierarchy, though it took years of experience to snag a senior position, leading the development team.

 

Hux’s ascent was unprecedented, especially for someone so young. As soon as he was hired, he put all of his cards on the table. He showed the robotics division Phasma 2.0, and they were floored. By the time he was nineteen, he was a senior engineer, leading a development team working on Project Stormtrooper, and by twenty-four, he was head of the entire robotics division.

 

That alone was quite an achievement in and of itself. To be honored at the gala this year would be icing on the cake.

 

 

Hux went on, pacing slowly as he spoke, “What distinguishes an artificially intelligent android from a non-sentient robot? What distinguishes an adaptively artificially intelligent android from any other AI droid?”

 

“A robot completes the task for which it was programmed. A robot repeats a sequence of actions to produce a predictable, desirable result. A droid equipped with adaptive artificially intelligent software on the other hand, is expected to figure out what the desired result is, how to produce this desired result, and will change its sequence of actions until the most optimal desired result is achieved.”

 

“A robot does only what you tell it to do. An AI droid will do whatever it takes to achieve the desired result, and improve upon its actions to get an even better result. An AI droid won’t stop, can’t stop, until you, the primary director, get what you want.”

 

“So I leave you for today with this word of caution. Be careful of what you want.”

 

 

~//~

 

 

It was six o’clock. Hux tore himself away from his workstation and prepared to shut down the lab for the night. As always, he was the last person there. As he spoke into his wristlet, his voice was transmitted to the Star droid that had been constantly shadowing Kylo.

 

“Kylo, time for bed. I’ll meet you at your chamber in ten minutes.”

 

Hux felt almost like he was a father putting Kylo to bed, because Kylo didn’t just sleep like a normal human would. Hux had overseen the routine every night.

 

Ten minutes later, Hux knocked on the door to one of the many rooms of the R & D facility allocated specifically for Project Force. He didn’t need to knock. He had the access code. But knocking was a habit that he had adopted after inadvertently walking in on Kylo in various states of undress one too many times. Of course Kylo didn’t care, being without any sense of modesty by design, not that this was much different from the way Ben had been.

 

Only when Hux received verbal confirmation that Kylo was dressed, did he enter the access code and let himself into Kylo’s dormitory.

 

Kylo had changed out of his all-black training uniform and had put on a fresh pair of white boxer briefs and a white tee shirt. He really didn’t need to wear clothes to bed, for the temperature of the sleep pod was regulated to keep Kylo comfortable, and would adjust based on his core body temperature. But for the sake of Hux’s sanity, Hux insisted that Kylo wore clothes to bed.

 

Not that seeing Kylo in his underwear affected Hux much less than if Kylo had been naked. Kylo now had the kind of body that looked just as good in his underwear as it did out of it. The elastic fabric stretched around Kylo’s sculpted muscles, leaving very little, if anything, to Hux’s overactive imagination.

 

Hux had to bite down hard on the corner of this bottom lip to keep from whimpering when Kylo extended both his arms to Hux as if reaching for a good night hug. Kylo stared, unblinking and still, waiting. Hux fished a pair of metallic cuff bracelets out of his lab coat pocket to begin the procedure that felt almost ceremonial. He affixed each of the electromagnetic bands to Kylo’s wrists, clicking them into place like jewelry. But these accessories were not ornamentation. They were functional. Once activated, these were the bands that would keep Kylo magnetically affixed to the sleep pod, thus ensuring his safety and the safety of others.

 

There was something ritualistic about this step of the process – something symbolic. Hux liked this entirely too much for it to be considered an average power trip. The soft, mechanical click of the cuffs locking around Kylo’s wrists was enough to draw color to Hux’s cheeks. It was the sound of Hux reinforcing his ownership of Kylo, the sound of Hux emphasizing his command over Kylo.

 

He typed a passcode into his mobile com-link, then tapped it to Kylo’s wristbands. A pleasant beep indicated that the electromagnetic locks were engaged. He could hear Ben’s voice in his head saying something exceedingly snarky about Hux’s supposed penchant for bondage. He chased the voice away with his own.

 

He took a deep, cleansing breath and said to himself, _you can do this, Hux._ As in, _you can perform your duties and resist temptation_.

 

Because he was so close to Kylo, he couldn’t help notice that Kylo was perspiring and breathing slightly erratically. Since the implant had taken over regulating much of Kylo’s physiology, he had become very even. To see Kylo so worked up when he was supposed to be at rest, was cause for alarm.

 

“Are you alright, Kylo?” Hux asked, concerned.

 

“I am experiencing an unusual level of physical discomfort,” Kylo replied, calmly, as usual, despite what he was apparently feeling.

 

“How so?” Hux wondered if _he_ was somehow making Kylo uncomfortable. Could Kylo sense Hux’s underlying arousal surrounding the process of locking him down for the night? And did Kylo understand that it was inappropriate? Of course, this was Hux just being paranoid. It was not in Kylo’s programming to perceive such things.

 

Kylo paused for a while, likely searching for some kind of association in the database of his integrated AI. Then he said, “I believe the sensation is akin to soreness.”

 

Hux’s brow furrowed skeptically. “Are you in pain, Kylo?”

 

He didn’t wait for Kylo to respond before he tapped his wristlet to the back of Kylo’s neck to run diagnostics.

 

“It would seem so,” Kylo admitted.

 

A graph came up on the holo screen of Hux’s mobile com link wristlet, showing Kylo’s vitals over the last twenty-four hours. Usually, Hux monitored these periodically throughout the day. But because he had been giving a lecture to the new interns, he did not have time to check Kylo’s stats. What should have been smooth curves reaching peaks that correlated with Kylo’s training sessions, were jagged, zigzagging lines. Certainly, pain could cause such erratic breathing and heart rates. But Kylo should not have perceived pain at all.

 

Hux sighed and ran his hand through his hair, annoyed. “There is no indication of major injury or pathology. Just muscle fatigue and resultant soreness. There seems to be a glitch in your nociception overrides. I’ll have to check the software for a bug tomorrow.” Hux always took it too personally when his flawless code behaved less than flawlessly.

 

“My apologies, sir. I had hoped to power through it without you noticing.” Kylo’s gaze dropped sullenly, as if he felt at fault somehow, like a child who had disappointed their parent.

 

Hux reassured him gently, “No need to apologize. You did nothing wrong. I just don’t want you in pain. Let’s at least get you comfortable until I can sort this out.”

 

“If you insist,” said Kylo, “But I don’t want to trouble you more than necessary, sir.” His selflessness was quite remarkable when compared to the selfish entitlement that Ben had exhibited.

 

Hux would never placate Ben with the sort of soft smile he was offering Kylo. But there was something childlike about Kylo, and Hux didn’t want him to know just how annoyed he was about the prospect of combing through hundreds of lines of code for a bug. Kylo was already beating himself up for something out of his control as it was.

 

“No worries. It can be fixed.” Hux typed various commands into the touchpad of the control panel on Kylo’s sleep pod. “I’m intensifying your over-night physical therapy sequence. A warm massage should do the trick.”

 

“You mean in the pod.” It was more of a disappointed statement than a question on Kylo’s part.

 

“Yes.” Hux nodded, and then offered, “Unless you’d prefer Phasma to administer your physical therapy tonight.”

 

“My preference is of no importance,” Kylo said, appearing to be sadly resigning himself to this fact.

 

Hux gave a slight shrug. “Not necessarily. There is no reason for me to deny you a choice.”

 

Kylo brightened slightly. “Then I choose you.”

 

Hux blushed hard and stuttered. “Well, I’m not trained, or anything. I wouldn’t know how to…”

 

Before Hux could finish his sentence, Kylo gently took Hux’s hand and placed it on his shoulder. Kylo’s eyes were fixed upon Hux’s, unsettlingly steady. “But you _do_ know. You programmed the pod to do it. You programmed Phasma to do it. So you must know how.” Kylo’s child-like innocence made his words less presumptuous and more logical, albeit naïve.

 

Hux just stared at the hand on Kylo’s shoulder to avoid that yearning gaze which imparted much more trust than Hux deserved. “I just don’t know if it’s…”

 

“It’s warm. Your hand.” Kylo interrupted Hux’s responsible thought once again, making it even more difficult for Hux to remain stoic in close proximity to Kylo’s nearly naked, perspiring, chiseled body. “It feels good.”

 

Experimentally, Hux ran his hand over Kylo’s shoulder and down the swell of his upper arm muscles, trying hard not to let the perfection of it seduce him. Because this was not about seduction. Hux had to remind himself of that. This was Kylo exhibiting his drive to hold Hux’s attention for the purpose of survival, and nothing more.

 

It was becoming increasingly difficult to refrain from exploiting Kylo’s programming to serve Hux’s own perversion. He took a deep cleansing breath with his eyes closed and spoke quietly. “Lie down, Kylo.”

 

As expected, Kylo did as he was commanded, never taking his eyes off of Hux. Hux started to lower the top half of the casket-like sleep pod, but Kylo looked so crestfallen. “The pod is more effective at administering physical therapy,” Hux insisted, not unkindly.

 

“I just want to please you, sir. And I know it pleases you to touch me,” said Kylo, with longing in his eyes, “You may touch me however it pleases you.”

 

Hux held on to the plastic handle of the sleep pod cover with a white-knuckle grasp, unmoving for a good minute. He started to lift it open again, but then caught himself before his morals could jump ship. _Nope. Not going there._

“Good night, Kylo,” he said as he lowered the cover, “See you in the morning.”

 

The pod hissed softly as it sealed. He punched in his passcode, which engaged the electromagnetic restraints, put Kylo into sleep mode, and started the physical therapy sequence that would run all night, massaging Kylo’s over-worked muscles. And because Hux could not completely trust himself, he went the extra mile and disabled the control panel until six the next morning.

 

 

Later that night, in the dark corners of his mind, Hux did unspeakable things to Kylo. Things that had him climaxing ardently. Things that left Kylo’s name on Hux’s tongue, bittersweet and indissoluble.

 

 

In the morning, when the sleep pod opened, Kylo had come-soaked boxers and Hux’s name on his heart.


	15. Chapter 15

Phasma reported for Kylo’s physical exam and found Hux there already, furiously typing away at his tablet. She placed a thermos cup of coffee in front of him, but he did not look up to acknowledge her, nor the hot beverage on his workstation.

 

Her remote bio-sensors showed that Hux was more stressed than usual. They also picked up trace signs that indicated he had engaged in some sort of sexual activity the night before. She turned the focus of her sensors onto Kylo. He too showed signs of sexual release within the past twelve hours. She dearly hoped that this was simply a coincidence and not a correlation.

 

“Something I should know, sir?” she asked.

 

“Phasma, we have a problem,” said Hux, still fixated on the screen, “Kylo’s nociception overrides are being, well… overridden. He was in a lot of pain yesterday, but I can’t find a single flaw in the string of code.”

 

She approached Kylo and gently caressed the line of his jaw with a finger. “Poor thing. Shall we administer analgesics?” Kylo remained still, his line of sight fixed, as usual, upon Hux.

 

“Already gave him something,” Hux muttered, distracted and clearly frustrated, “But he shouldn’t have needed it. This isn’t supposed to be happening.”

 

“Are we postponing the training module for today, then?” Phasma asked.

 

Hux heaved a long, weary sigh and rubbed his temples. “I suppose we don’t have to. I can figure this out remotely. I don’t necessarily need Kylo.”

 

“Are you quite sure, sir?” Kylo asked, anxious, “If my training module is not imperative, I can be at your full disposal today.”

 

“Every training module is imperative, Kylo,” Phasma reprimanded, however not forcefully.

 

Kylo looked up at Phasma and replied, “But if I am not one-hundred-percent operational, the training module will be less effective.”

 

“In the field, you may find yourself less than fully operational,” Phasma explained, “in which case, you must be able to adapt. All training is effective, regardless of your operation status.”

 

“Would I not be more useful to our maker if I am easily accessible?” Kylo proposed.

 

Hux waved his hand dismissively, annoyed. “Do whatever you want and quit bickering.”

 

“My apologies, sir,” said Phasma.

 

Kylo immediately cut in, “Whatever _you_ want is what we want.”

 

“We only want to serve your objectives,” Phasma countered with the same point.

 

Hux muttered quietly with frustration, more to himself than to either Phasma or Kylo, “God damn it, these fucking droids.”

 

Phasma could tell when she was not needed. “Alright then, sir, I’ll leave you to it.” She walked away, dejected, wondering if her act of sabotage had backfired. There had to be another way to demonstrate to Hux that Kylo was inferior to her, and thus unworthy of his precious time and efforts.

 

~//~

 

“You referred to me as a droid, sir,” said Kylo after several minutes of remaining silent and unmoving while sitting on the exam table.

 

“What did I say? I didn’t… I didn’t mean…,” Hux stuttered, still distracted.

 

“What am I, sir?” Kylo asked.

 

Hux finally put down his tablet and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I can’t answer that. You have to answer that for yourself.”   The Star droid floated silently overhead recording their exchange. He posed the same question to Kylo. “What do _you_ think you are?”

 

Kylo searched for the answer, trying to corroborate what he’d learned with pre-existing data, and finally decided upon an answer, of which he was still not entirely certain. “I am technology. _That_ I know. But,” Kylo lifted his hand and inspected it, “I am made of living tissue.”

Kylo turned his hand and gently balled his fingers into a fist. “I am made of living tissue,” he repeated softly, wistfully. Suddenly, it became imperative that he tested his hypothesis. He hopped off the exam table and declared, “I’d like to go to the training room, sir.”

 

Hux nodded, his brow furrowing slightly with suspicion. “Very well. Be careful. Dismissed.”

 

As Kylo left the room, the Star droid trailed him, as did Hux’s eyes.

 

 

When Phasma met Kylo in the training room, Kylo was already poised to fight her with a metallic quarterstaff. Phasma, dressed only in her black training gear, sans armor, took up her weapon.

 

“Poor, sweet, Ren,” she cooed, hefting the weapon in her hands, adjusting her grip as she padded across the floor with predatory grace. “So perfect on the outside, but…,” she came close enough to Kylo to whisper, “irreparably broken on the inside.”

 

“In criticizing me, you also criticize our maker,” said Kylo, watching Phasma carefully as she slowly circled around him. “To say that I cannot be fixed is to say Hux is incapable of it. And to say Hux is incapable of perfection is to admit you are flawed. For did he not make me the same way he made you?”

 

Phasma smiled wide, the startling white of her enamel showing beneath silicone lips. “You’re mistaken,” she said sweetly, “I am the embodiment of perfection. I am Hux’s design, flawlessly executed.”

 

Kylo didn’t break his stance while she swung at him with her quarterstaff. At that moment, he had a choice – a choice he was not even fully cognizant of - to follow training protocol and let the FORCE implant control him, or consciously buck the software, if it was even possible.

 

He felt Hux’s code like a compulsion, urging him to move his muscles in a sequence predetermined by the FORCE software. But beneath that, Kylo felt a need – a yearning to find where he fit in the hierarchy of Hux’s carefully organized world. He defied the strength of his software and made an autonomous decision. As Phasma swung her quarterstaff with more vindictiveness than a droid should conceivably demonstrate, Kylo raised his weapon but did not bring it back down to parry Phasma’s blow.

 

Kylo was not just testing himself; he was testing his maker. And as Phasma’s quarterstaff bashed Kylo’s face, he had one thought before blacking-out, and that was whether or not Hux would be concerned about the damage to his hardware.

 

 

~//~

 

An incessant, hostile-sounding beep blared from both Hux’s wristlet and his workstation computer. The messages that popped up on all of his holo screens said the same thing:

 

_ALERT: P1 SEVERELY COMPROMISED – MEDICAL INTERVENTION REQUIRED_

 

Hux toggled to Star’s surveillance camera. What he saw made his heart stop.   Kylo was on the floor of the training room, bleeding from a diagonal gash across his face. Phasma scooped him up in her arms, despite his large mass, and spoke to the camera. “Sir. Shall I take him to the infirmary or to the lab?”

 

“Infirmary! Infirmary!” Hux insisted, panicking. He rushed to meet them at the infirmary, speaking to Phasma through his mobile com-link as he ran through the maze of corridors, stopping to input his access codes at every door blocking his path. “Report status!”

 

Phasma’s voice came through Hux’s wristlet. “Status is critical. Risk of losing vital operations, high.”

 

“What the _fuck_ happened, Phasma?” Hux demanded, ignoring the raised eyebrows he was earning from his fellow employees.

 

“Kylo and I were conducting weapons training module D-5. Kylo failed to block my quarterstaff and sustained blunt-force trauma to the head.”

 

“What do you mean he _failed_ to block?” Hux asked, incredulous.

 

“It was as if he chose _not_ to block my attack. I could not alter course quickly enough to cease the path of my weapon.”

 

Kylo regained consciousness soon after Hux arrived at the infirmary. A medical tech treated his wound while Phasma ran diagnostics on his software.

 

“What were you thinking?!” Hux barked at Kylo like an outraged parent.

 

Kylo stated clinically, “You had asked me what I think I am. I was gathering evidence to support my theory.”

 

Hux sighed deeply with his face in his hands. This was his fault. But to his credit, he did not think that Kylo would do something so harmful for the sake of self-discovery. He glanced at the holo screen displaying Kylo’s diagnostics. Kylo was going to be fine. He’d probably have a badass scar and a headache, but any damage done would be insignificant to the project.

 

“When you’re all patched up, report to your dormitory,” Hux ordered, tiredly, “You’re done for the day. I’m putting you to bed early.”

 

 

“Were you worried?” Kylo asked, sitting in the sleep pod in his underwear as Hux placed the electromagnetic bands around his wrists.

 

“No,” Hux lied. He did not want to encourage Kylo to perform self-harming theatrics in order to gain his attention, which was what Hux now suspected this had been, at least in part. “Did you obtain the information you needed?” He asked, perhaps slightly bitter.

 

“Sadly, no,” Kylo admitted, “I am no closer to the answer than I was this morning. I am made of flesh and blood. This I knew. But to bleed. To feel pain. Do these things make me human? These responses can be programmed, like any other.”

 

“What makes one human?” Hux asked, posing the question to himself as much as to Kylo.

 

“To love. To yearn. To suffer. The great philosophers and writers would argue that is what it is to be human,” Kylo proposed.

 

Hux knew that Kylo’s introspection had drawn upon the literary culture Hux had bestowed upon him. The Star droid hovered close as Hux asked, “And do you, Kylo? Do you have the capacity? Do you love? Do you yearn? Do you suffer?”

 

Peering deeply into Hux’s eyes, extracting the truth from within, Kylo replied, “I do.” And as if it pained him, he went on as his own dark eyes became shiny with impending tears, “I love. I love one who has no capacity to love, yet he is human. I yearn. I yearn for him, though he does not want me the way I want him. And so I suffer. But does this make me human? And meanwhile, one who I _know_ to be a machine also loves him. Yearns for him. Suffers because of it. She and I, we will endure and we will suffer – we will fight and we will destroy – until _he_ is satisfied.”

 

Hux did not want to presume. Yet he could not help but feel his chest swelling with the knowledge that Kylo was referring to him. And he wondered, as warmth rushed through his veins to bring color to his skin, if he had inadvertently created two beings that loved him – two _killing machines_ that loved him – two killing machines that loved him _and_ would kill for him. It filled him with a great sense of power that overshadowed any sense of dread or remorse.

 

Hux now knew that Phasma and Kylo would burn down the fucking world for his love.  And it felt god damn good.

 

“What does that make us?” Kylo asked, pleading for clarity.

 

Hux reached out and tucked Kylo’s long fringe behind his ear. Kylo’s eyes fluttered closed at his touch. “It makes you mine,” Hux murmured.

 

Kylo held Hux’s hand to his face as tears ran down his cheeks. He turned to kiss Hux’s palm.

 

“It makes you mine,” Hux whispered again, feeling it like a revelation, like the most brilliant discovery of his career, like the whole world was at his fingertips, like a song in his heart.

 

“Star, cameras off.” Hux’s command was spoken nearly inaudibly, but the small droid obeyed. And though the light of the droid’s large, red eye went dim, it remained hovering above them.

 

Hux sat himself astride Kylo’s lap and declared, “You are mine.” He said it with more conviction this time, knowing it to be true, giving in to it as his destiny. He took Kylo’s face in his hands. Despite the laceration marring the surface, his underlying beauty still shone through. Kylo gazed up at him with more love and reverence than anyone had ever looked at him with before.

 

It was time that Hux truly owned up to what he had created, for subconsciously, he had designed Kylo to love him as much as to obey him.

 

“Yours,” said Kylo, quiet in his conviction.

 

Hux pressed his lips to Kylo’s, softly, tentatively. Unlike Ben, it seemed that Kylo did not know what to do with Hux’s mouth once he had it.

 

And then it hit Hux like a brick. This was Kylo’s first kiss. First _anything_.

 

“Teach me,” said Kylo, gazing at Hux eagerly, “With your guidance, I will not disappoint you.”

 

Hux’s hands trembled. Never before had he wielded so much power over one person. Every move that Kylo made would be at Hux’s command. Everything that Kylo did, would be to please Hux. Hux would shape Kylo to serve him better, and Kylo would love every minute of it, regardless of any pleasure Kylo was able to glean from it.

 

Hux took Kylo’s hand, raised it, and laced his fingers through Kylo’s while they both studied this simple connection. “Just do what I do.”

 

Kylo curled his fingers the way Hux had. Hux guided their joined hands to the small of his back before leaving Kylo’s hand to rest there. He slipped his freed hand beneath the back of Kylo’s tee shirt and smoothed it along the muscled flesh. Kylo mirrored this action over Hux’s shirt

 

“I can’t feel you the same way you’re feeling me,” Kylo pointed out.

 

“You’re right,” said Hux with a small smile and a nervous chuckle.

 

Even though Hux was in complete control, and though Kylo had nothing to compare to Hux, there was still a fair amount of inherent pressure that went along with being somebody’s first – somebody’s teacher. He swiftly unbuttoned his gingham shirt and divested himself of it along with the white undershirt beneath. Kylo removed his shirt in kind, which still managed to make Hux’s throat tighten, regardless of how many times he’d seen him shirtless. So much skin to explore, so much flesh to partake of, and every inch of it belonged to Hux.

 

Hux kissed him, insistently this time, and allowed his hands to take stock of the man that Kylo had become, of the muscle rippling beneath smooth skin, of the body shaped by his technology. An Adonis such as this would have normally intimidated Hux to the point of being a bumbling fool. But because Hux essentially made Kylo, because he was Kylo’s primary director, and because Kylo did not have the capacity to criticize, Hux felt superior enough to take on a man who would be otherwise unattainable by somebody like him.

 

Kylo was quick to learn how to move his lips to best take Hux’s mouth, how to accommodate Hux’s tongue and how to slide his against it, how to map the lines of Hux’s body with reverent fingertips, and how to meet every slow grind of Hux’s hips with the upward press of his. From the feel of Kylo’s raging erection, Hux knew that his enjoyment was mutual.

 

He had come this far before with Ben. And with Kylo, there was no limit to where Hux could take him.

 

“I want you,” Hux whispered hotly into Kylo’s open mouth, as if the desperation of his kiss and the tent in his trousers hadn’t made it glaringly obvious.

 

“I’m yours,” said Kylo, breathlessly, “Do with me what you will.”

 

Hux dismounted from Kylo’s lap, and Kylo looked disappointed by his abrupt departure. Hux smirked slightly. “I’m not going anywhere. No worries.” He slipped out of his shoes and trousers, feeling the weight of Kylo’s stare. Hux knew that he was gangly and pasty, and not much to look at with just his boxers and socks. But instead of scrutiny and resignation, which Hux had always expected from his partners, few as they had been, Kylo seemed pleased.

 

His eyes moved hungrily over Hux’s body. “I want to feel every part of you. You make me selfish,” Kylo confessed, “Of this, I am ashamed.”

 

Hux quirked a brow. Shame was never in Ben’s lexicon, and he was surprised that it had found its way into Kylo’s. “Ashamed?”

 

Kylo lowered his gaze. “Yes. I should only want to serve you and want nothing in return.” Then he closed his eyes and whispered shakily, “But I find myself _wanting_.”

 

“You’re permitted to want. As long as it’s only me that you want.” Hux could be selfish too.

 

“I will always only want you. This is what I am,” Kylo declared.

 

Hux didn’t even have to question it. He knew it was true because he _made_ it true.

 

Hux’s small smirk darkened. “Lie down, Kylo.” He put his fingertips on Kylo’s chest, urging him to recline along the mat lining the sleep pod.

 

Hux climbed back into the pod, this time situating himself with his head in Kylo’s lap.

 

“What do you want me to do, sir?” asked Kylo, looking a bit lost and unsure with Hux’s head between his legs.

 

Fleetingly, Hux thought about telling Kylo to stop calling him _sir_. But if his fantasy was going to come to life, why not let every smutty detail come to fruition?

 

“Watch. Learn. Perhaps enjoy yourself.” Hux grinned up at Kylo, hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of Kylo’s briefs, and slowly pulled back the synthetic fabric, freeing Kylo’s impressive erection.

 

All of his fantasizing, and all of the late nights spent watching Ben’s masturbation holograms, did not prepare him for this – for this beautiful, hefty, mass of swollen cock that was already slick with sweat and pre-come – and every glistening, turgid inch was all for him.

 

A few gentle, experimental strokes were all it took to make Kylo shiver beneath Hux’s touch. As Hux closed his mouth wetly over the pink head, Kylo heaved a shuddering exhale. Hux shut his eyes to fully savor the taste of bittersweet brine gracing his tongue. He let his lips glide down slowly along the firm length, inwardly smug about the fact that he was giving Kylo entirely novel sensations – new pleasures to relish and to catalogue. Nobody had ever made Kylo feel this way, in this incarnation at least. When nearly the entirety of Kylo’s cock was down his throat, he knew that instinct was beginning to override programming, if it hadn’t done so already. Kylo bucked up gently, thrusting in deeper to match the wet slide of Hux’s mouth.

 

Kylo was quiet, except for the staccato of erratic breathing and the whispers of pleasure. Hux glanced up when Kylo became _too_ silent. Kylo sucked in a breath through his agape mouth, his eyes screwed shut, his muscles taut, ready for a _coup de grace_. Hux flattened his tongue against Kylo’s hard length as he slid upwards in a slow, corkscrew motion.

 

He lifted off with a soft pop and then stroked him with a deft twist in his wrist. He licked a firm stripe behind his sac, and when Kylo finally let out a moan, a genuine, primal sound of utter surrender, Hux took it further. He dipped his tongue into Kylo’s most intimate place, and knew it would have him reeling.

 

When Hux looked up again, the sound that escaped Kylo’s parted lips was that of a hundred beautiful little deaths. Nothing in Kylo’s programming predicated this response. This was pure, unadulterated ecstasy. And it made Hux’s own cock twitch to know that he could genuinely move Kylo enough to push against his programming and express wanton adulation.

 

Hux swallowed down Kylo once more, this time with a swift, undulating rhythm and a fingertip teasing Kylo’s spit-slicked entrance. On their own volition, Kylo’s fingers found Hux’s hair and tangled themselves within it, grasping for a lifeline while concurrently pushing for more, more, and more still, until Hux choked on his massive cock. It had become unclear who was in control, but in the blur of lust and anxious need, it was easy to get lost – to just let go and give in to one’s physiology and primal urges.

 

As Kylo spurt down Hux’s throat, Hux felt the wisps of Ben rising from within – entitled, brash, seizing life by the balls and squeezing every last ounce of pleasure from it. Hux’s throat reflexively fought the intrusion, but he could not buck Kylo’s tight grasp. His eyes watered as he gagged on the lengthy dick that forced lewd noises out of him. It was humiliating, and yet he felt conversely aroused by the vulgarity of it all. Hux’s scalp stung where Kylo was pulling his hair while each spasm brought an alarming volume of hot spunk. Hux could do nothing but take it all, bitterly so, angry that he’d allowed Kylo to slip out from his control.

 

Kylo abruptly relinquished his hold on Hux’s hair, as if suddenly realizing the gross infraction he’d committed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” Kylo pleaded with both his words and his eyes. Clearly, Kylo was afraid of Hux’s disapproval more than anything.

 

Hux turned his head and spat all of Kylo’s essence that he didn’t inadvertently swallow, splattering the sterile floor of the contained dormitory. He had been too furious to notice that the self-cleaning surface had absorbed Kylo’s ejaculate, erasing all evidence of his release.

 

Hux crawled up Kylo’s body and kissed him hard, shoving his tongue into Kylo’s mouth, making sure that he tasted his own mess. He bit Kylo’s lip spitefully, causing Kylo to whimper, perhaps not in pain, but in remorse.

 

Hux had tasted what it was to have absolute power over Kylo, and for a moment, he’d lost it. He would not lose it again.

 

“I suck your cock and you forget who you are?” Hux asked facetiously, scowling at Kylo as he wedged himself between Kylo’s legs.

 

“It won’t happen again, sir,” Kylo insisted.

 

“Damn right, it won’t,” Hux muttered. He took both of Kylo’s wrists and lifted them above his head. “Stay.” Using his com-link wristlet as a remote control, Hux turned on the electromagnetic field of the sleep pod, thus affixing Kylo’s shackled wrists in place.

 

Hux pushed back Kylo’s legs with his hands splayed on the backs of his thighs. Kylo’s legs were thick and muscular and felt deliciously firm in Hux’s hands. Hux knew it was only his command over Kylo that enabled him to move Kylo into this position of utter submission. This fact, coupled with the beautiful flesh displayed beneath him, sent a rush of hot, pulsing power through Hux’s body, straight to his cock.

 

With a sense of urgency and entitlement, Hux spit into his hand to coat his erection, then again to slick Kylo’s entrance. He would remind Kylo who was in control.

 

“What will you do to me, sir?” Kylo asked, somehow concurrently eager for and fearful of Hux’s wrath.

 

Hux took Kylo’s face in one hand, not gently, and leaned down close to whisper harshly, “I’m going to fuck you, Kylo. _Hard_. Because you need to know what you are.”

 

“Tell me what I am, sir. Please,” Kylo pleaded anxiously as Hux moved into position and poised his angry erection at Kylo’s barely-prepped hole.

 

“You are _mine_ ,” Hux declared with a low growl through gritted teeth as he pushed himself into Kylo.

 

In response to the intrusion, Kylo’s brow furrowed slightly. But what Hux did not know was that it was only a reaction to the alien sensation of having Hux’s cock inside him, and nothing to do with pain. Those nociception overrides were finally working again.

 

Kylo’s stoicism only spurned Hux to push harder, to slam into him with spiteful force, until the rhythmic sound of flesh smacking against flesh provided a musical accompaniment to the pounding of his heart.

 

Hux slowed to a shallow, teasing rhythm and spoke sibilantly, drunk on power and high on the inflated notion of supremacy, “You are mine by design. Mine to control and mine to fuck.”

 

“Yours…,” Kylo breathed out, arching his body to meet Hux’s punishingly restrained thrusts, impaling himself on Hux’s cock as he lifted his hips, “Fuck me… Please, sir.”

 

To prevent Kylo from taking control of his own pleasure, Hux held onto his thighs so tightly that his fingertips blanched the skin beneath. It took a concerted effort to exercise self-control and hold Kylo down, fighting against the other’s physical strength. The effort would likely leave marks on Kylo’s thighs where Hux’s fingers dug in.

 

In that moment of realization, Hux felt guilty. It had taken a year for Kylo to emerge – this beautiful, dark haired creature hewn into perfect muscle and flawless, pale skin. And in moments of sheer recklessness, he was ruined, with a gash across his face and bruises in the shape of Hux’s desperation to control and to own him. Hux could beat Kylo bloody and fuck his mangled body if he really wanted to, and Kylo would gladly let him.

 

Hux stilled his hips and shuddered as the pain of guilt tightened in his chest. Still lodged inside Kylo, he lamented, “I made you… and now I don’t know what to do with you,” Hux lamented. _Nobody should have this much control over another human being_ , Hux thought. _It isn’t right_. He moved to meet Kylo’s eyes and cupped his face in his hands, more gently this time. “What am I to do with you?” he asked, lips quivering, face contorted with emotional torment, not expecting an answer.

 

All the while, Kylo’s dark eyes just stared, unwavering in their reverence. “Love me,” he said simply.

 

Hux tested the words on his tongue, weighing them in his head. “Love you... _Love_ you.”

 

“Yes. You made me. You own me. Now love me,” said Kylo, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

 

And because this was coming from Kylo’s mind, made of integrated artificial intelligent software of Hux’s design, Hux was inclined to agree with this logic. In a way, it was the most responsible thing to do. “And you, Kylo? What will you do?” Hux asked.

 

“I will love you. I will follow you,” Kylo declared, resolutely, “I will win the galaxy for you, and your dominion will be endless.”

 

Hux’s heart swelled once more, filling with hope and desire as he sputtered wordlessly. He pressed a trembling kiss to Kylo’s forehead and felt the same sense of desperate longing as he had when he thought of Lambda 7.

 

He disabled the electromagnetic cuffs, freeing Kylo’s arms to wrap around him. For a long time, they lay there, arms entwined, and in that moment, Hux began to believe in the impossible.

 

The promise of conquest seduced Hux’s hips to move again, slow and sinuous, pushing deep into Kylo. “Tell me,” Hux urged with a breathy whisper.

 

“I will love you,” Kylo repeated, moaning the words with pleasure dripping sweetly from his tongue between breathless kisses, spinning dreams in Hux’s head, “I will topple nations for you. I will bring you entire kingdoms and lay them at your feet.”

 

“ _Fuck, yes_ ,” Hux groaned, quivering with mounting desire, speeding the rhythm of his thrusts. “Tell me.”

 

“For you, I will amass an empire,” declared Kylo, “and I will pull down the stars for you, so that they may adorn your crown.”

 

Because Hux’s brain never stopped calculating, even when his body was balls deep in the hottest piece of ass he could ever dream of delving into, he pondered how everything he had uploaded into Kylo’s mind had managed to manifest so poetically, so aligned with Hux’s secret, far-fetched ambitions. He wondered how much of it was Kylo adapting to him, and how much was his influence on Kylo’s software.

 

Perhaps a lot of what Kylo was saying was simply what Hux wanted to hear, and had nothing to do with what Kylo was willing to do. Soon, he would have to test it. But for now, Hux would drown lavishly in the pleasure of Kylo’s warm flesh and honeyed promises.

 

Kylo was, after all, part pleasure droid in his software. Why shouldn’t Hux enjoy it for what it was? An elaborate, living, breathing fantasy, into which Hux spilled all of his aspirations in a succession of shuddering bursts. And as Hux came, he saw the stars of distant galaxies behind his closed eyes, and he knew that Kylo would bring him those stars if he asked.

 

Hux drawled lazily against Kylo’s lips, languishing in post-orgasmic bliss, “You’ll make me an emperor, hm?”

 

“With your love and your guidance…,” Kylo claimed, so sure of himself in a naïve way.

 

“Well then,” mused Hux, ghosting his mouth over the line of Kylo’s jaw before nipping it playfully, “I think I love you.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens in this chapter. A LOT. I probably should have chopped it up into more than one chapter, but I couldn't decide where to make those divisions, so I left it as one enormous chapter, in which SO much happens.
> 
> Some warnings: We start off with a gratuitous smut scene that includes some felching (I think that's what it's called...), and quite a bit of violence in the end. No violence in the smut scene though.

Kylo had the most perfect lips, Hux thought to himself, admiring the soft shape of them as he reclined in his office chair well past the end of the workday. Maybe Hux was biased as Kylo’s lover and maker. Or maybe he was inclined towards this assessment because of what Kylo’s lips were doing at the moment, which was wrapping around the girth of his erection. The look that Kylo gave Hux from his kneeling position on the floor under the workstation was somehow both coy and seductive.

 

Hux reached down and threaded his fingers into Kylo’s hair. He drawled softly, “You’re so beautiful with my cock in your mouth,” amazed that he was in possession of such perfection. The diagonal scar across his face did not detract from Kylo’s flawlessness, but instead made him look dangerous, and thus more alluring.

 

Kylo made an elaborate display of his appreciation, lavishing the length of Hux’s cock with his tongue before taking the whole of it down his throat with practiced ease.

 

The intense pleasure rushed through Hux’s body, forcing him to screw his eyes shut, inciting him to tilt his head back and let out a wanton moan. “Oh god, I love you.” Maybe he meant it. Maybe he just felt sentimental about his creation. Or maybe Kylo gave such good head that it inspired this sort of adulation. Then Hux whined breathily, clearly pained, “But you need to stop. I don’t want to come yet.”

 

Kylo pulled off with the efficiency of one accustomed to carrying out orders instantaneously. It wasn’t sexy, but it was just the way things were when having sex with a body controlled by a robotic mind. That is not to say that Kylo behaved entirely like an inanimate object. But Hux was so astute to the way his droids behaved that he recognized when software took over Kylo’s human instincts, and vice versa.

 

And Kylo was so attuned to Hux’s behavior, as per his programming, that he knew exactly what Hux wanted before Hux had to say it. Kylo crawled out slowly from under the workstation like a predatory creature and stood wedged between Hux and the tabletop. Kylo took his time as he began to divest himself of his endurance training uniform, taking advantage of the emptiness of the labs at this late hour and the freedom it granted them.

 

Hux gazed up at him with vulturine hunger, smirking lasciviously, feeling sweat beading up on his forehead as he followed the slowly descending zipper on its path down Kylo’s chest. He watched Kylo’s Adam’s apple surge between the panels of the black track jacket as they parted, admired his angular collarbones jutting from the sweat-soaked white ribbed tank that he wore beneath the jacket, venerated the swell of his muscled shoulders with an appreciative murmur of _fucking gorgeous_ as the jacket fell to the floor _._

Kylo raised his arms to pull off the tank, sending a plume of his masculine scent wafting up. He’d been jogging laps around the track of the training room just prior and was still ripe from the exertion. The smell of his sweat and pheromones seduced thoughts of desire and dominance from the murky depths of Hux’s mind. Hux mused to himself that he could get hard, untouched, from Kylo’s scent alone. But Hux was already beyond that point, painfully turgid and leaking pre-come from the slit.

 

Kylo bit the corner of his bottom lip as he gently tugged on the drawstring laces of his track pants, slowly releasing them from their tie. Hux knew this timidity was an act – a programmed display – but it was a show put on just for him. No one else but Hux would be so privileged. Kylo hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pants and pulled at the elastic. He inched the stretchy fabric down, releasing his growing need from the confines of his pants.

 

Hux’s smirk darkened. “No underpants? You naughty thing,” he drawled lasciviously.

 

Kylo’s only response was a smirk of his own, but his was comparatively more bashful than sly.

 

Hux handled the angles of Kylo’s hipbones and leaned forward to claim the prize of Kylo’s warm, dappled flesh. He nipped the side of Kylo’s torso before tonguing the spot where his teeth had left a ring of indentations. “Mine,” he whispered, his breath hot and eager against Kylo’s skin.

 

Kylo folded his arms behind Hux’s neck and spoke quietly with the innocence and reverence of a child, “I love you.”

 

Hux’s smirk softened to a pleased grin as he gently nuzzled the trail of soft hair along Kylo’s abdomen. “I will never tire of hearing you say that,” he purred.

 

“I will never tire of loving you,” Kylo admitted quietly.

 

Of course, he wouldn’t. Kylo would love Hux until the day he was terminated, or until his software stopped running, whichever came first.

 

Hux unceremoniously yanked Kylo’s pants down to his ankles and it was all the indication Kylo needed to turn and bend over the workstation with his legs spread. Hux smoothed his hands over the taut, muscular swell of Kylo’s bottom, marveling at the flawlessness of the ass at his full disposal. He gave it a playful slap, to which Kylo didn’t even flinch, but instead reacted by spreading apart his cheeks. Hux gave an appreciative little moan when Kylo’s pretty hole was presented to him like a divine offering. He fished a bottle of lube out of his workstation drawer that had been stashed for moments like this, alone and recklessly horny in the R&D lab. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and amply slicked himself with it before slathering it on Kylo’s winking entrance.

 

Hux sat low in his chair before engaging the electromagnetic floor that would keep his seat from slipping back. After stepping out of his pants, Kylo sat himself upon Hux’s lap, reclined with his back against Hux’s chest. He tilted his head back to take Hux’s waiting kiss. Hux took Kylo’s awakening cock in his slippery grasp, eliciting a pleased sigh. He felt the slick mass of flesh becoming deliciously firm as his fingers glided over it, felt himself getting impossibly more desperate as he hefted Kylo’s swollen cock in his hand.

 

Kylo didn’t need to be told what to do. He knew how to take advantage of their seated position and how best to take Hux’s cock. Hux poised it at his entrance as Kylo lowered himself carefully. He groaned with mounting pleasure as Kylo enveloped him, inch by slow inch, into sweltering heat and impossible tightness. It was almost too much. Too hot, too intimate, too fucking good.

 

Fit and nimble as he was, Kylo used the arms of the chair as leverage to push himself up and down on Hux’s lap. This was the only way Hux enjoyed being a passive participant – when Kylo rode him slow and dirty like a perfect whore.

 

Hux moved his hands smoothly over Kylo’s body, from his hips down to his thighs, feeling every taut muscle flexing beneath the amorous path of his fingertips, smearing lines of sweat and lube upon Kylo’s mottled skin. When Kylo impaled himself particularly deep, it inspired Hux to curl his fingers and blanch the flesh within his possessive grasp.

 

And all the while, Hux remained clothed, with his cock protruding from his opened trousers. He faintly mused that his zipper would leave marks on Kylo’s ass. And that thought inspired another, more formed thought – that every mark that Hux himself put on Kylo was becoming more akin to a wedding band on someone’s finger and less like a brand of ownership. Every bruise and abrasion and scar showed the world that Kylo intimately belonged to someone – that he belonged to Hux. This was contrary to the serial number and Snoke Industries logo tattooed on Kylo’s chest, which symbolized dehumanization and slavery.

 

 _It must be so comforting for Kylo_ , Hux thought – _to never wonder if there was somebody with whom he was supposed to belong, to never question his purpose, to never need anyone else._ Kylo was lucky to belong to Hux. It was with these thoughts swimming around Hux’s head that he came hard inside Kylo, holding him firmly by the hips to keep him deeply seated for each fervent spurt.

 

Just as Hux finished, he gave Kylo a sharp kiss upon his neck and whispered, “You know what to do.”

 

Kylo lifted off Hux’s lap and resumed his prior bent position over the workstation.

 

“Show me,” Hux murmured with languid entitlement as he lazily stroked the last dregs of come from his nearly-spent cock.

 

Kylo splayed his hands over his bottom and spread his cheeks, allowing Hux’s still-hot spunk to exude from the pink opening and seep down his thighs. He glanced over his shoulder back at Hux and gave a deviant little smirk with his kiss-bruised lips. “Do you love it, sir?”

 

There was Ben’s old smugness again, peeking through Hux’s code like a dirty secret. It had him wondering if Kylo knew exactly what he was doing – if Kylo knew that he had Hux wrapped around his long, nimble fingers every time they fucked - if Kylo knew he owned Hux almost as much as Hux owned him.

 

Hux admitted unabashedly, groaning sensually, low and deep in his throat, “I fucking love it.”

 

Nobody made Hux feel as fiercely sexy or as uninhibited as Kylo had. It was enough to inspire him to lick his own pearlescent ejaculate off the back of Kylo’s glistening thighs, still riding the thrilling high of sexual conquest with voracious need. Tasting the bitter brine of his own come mingling with the carnal musk of Kylo’s essence was devastatingly hot and smutty in all the right ways that Hux’s other lovers never were.

 

The rumbling, pleased sound that Kylo made in response to Hux’s tongue spurned him on to inspire it again with aptly placed wet kisses, until Kylo’s own fervent release erupted from the cock in his fist. The arsehole prototype must have known how easily Hux was manipulated.

 

If Kylo felt he was more entitled to Hux’s attention than any of his other creations, it was quite possible that Phasma felt the same way. And as the warm haze of sex had begun to lift from his mind, Hux began to worry about this prospect.

 

~//~

 

Hux did not own a tuxedo.

 

He’d worn the same cobalt blue suit to the Sponsors Gala all three times he had attended previously. That’s not to say that it was an old, worn out thing. It was top of the line designer menswear, tailored and re-tailored to fit him perfectly. It looked damn good on him. In fact, it made Hux look so stunning that it may have played a large part in getting him laid the last time he wore it.

 

But he couldn’t very well wear it a fourth time, considering he was the guest of honor at this year’s gala. And so Hux found himself in a menswear salon, trying to choose the right tuxedo. Should he go with classic lines, or would a fashion-forward outfit more suitably represent the forward-thinking man that was being honored?

 

In the end, he’d chosen a tuxedo that exuded both timeless aesthetics and innovative design. He stood on a raised platform, studying himself in the mirror, as the tailor pinned up the pant cuffs. It was cut from a black textile with the slightest hint of sheen, fitted in all the ways that accentuated his long body, with a Mandarin collar that exemplified menswear of the modern era. It was simple and elegant. But it needed a little something _more_ , something to make him stand out amongst the other men who would be wearing nearly identical tuxedos.

 

Phasma assisted in choosing the right accessory that would raise Hux’s outfit to the next level, from Employee-of-the-Month, to Engineer-of-the-Decade. She placed the black, synthetic wool mantle on his shoulders and then fastened the chrome closures at his neck. All the stylish celebrities were pairing a waist-length cape with their suits these days. But Hux worried that it was too flashy for a tech industry event.

 

“I don’t know, Phasma,” Hux said warily, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly, testing the weight of the garment, “I think it might be a little over-the-top.”

 

“You can wear it on the red carpet, and then decide to take it off later,” Phasma suggested, reasonable as ever.

 

Hux sighed deeply. “I had almost forgotten that I have to walk the stupid press line outside before the party.”

 

He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, trying to own the look instead of letting it hang bulkily off his frame. If he was conscious of his posture, he could pull it off rather well, he thought, admiring the way a simple change in his pose improved the way the suit and mantle appeared. “I’ll wear the cape then.”

 

He took it off and handed it back to Phasma, who in turn passed it on to the salon attendant droid. Phasma asked, “Have you thought about what you’d like me to wear for the demonstration?”

 

Hux furrowed his brow. He had not realized until that moment that Phasma assumed she’d be part of the showcase. “You’re not wearing anything for the demonstration,” he said.

 

“Nude, then? I quite agree,” said Phasma, misinterpreting Hux’s reply, “Keep it basic. No need to conceal the hardware beneath garments. Better to showcase the design.”

 

“No, I mean you’re not part of the showcase,” Hux clarified, “Snoke wants me to preview the Project FORCE prototype.” He was careful not to mention Kylo by name.

 

Phasma paused, unblinking and unmoving, as if she’d been momentarily shut off. The extra time she was taking to process this information worried Hux.

 

“Very well,” she said finally, “I’ll plan on powering down in my docking bay as usual.”

 

Though she had spoken clinically, Hux thought he sensed an underlying tinge of bitterness. Perhaps he was projecting his own fears upon her and had only imagined that she was jealous. Hux quickly responded to placate her, “If you want to come, I’ll need to clear it with upper management.”

 

Phasma flashed a small grin. Hux had sometimes found her smiles to be slightly eerie, and this one was definitely one of those. “Sir, are you asking me to be your date?”

 

Hux chuckled nervously, unsure if she was joking. He took the civil way out and said, “I don’t require a date, but if I did, I would not hesitate to consider you.” It was the most roundabout way of saying _no_ , and hopefully convoluted enough to offset any simulated feelings Phasma might exhibit.

 

“Very well, sir,” she repeated, more tersely this time.

 

Hux inwardly cursed the fact that he’d created a droid with emotions upon which he had to tread lightly, and then doubly cursed himself for even caring about hurting his droid’s feelings. He shouldn’t have to worry about what Phasma would do while he was at the gala, or while he was otherwise not with her, particularly when he happened to be with Kylo. He should not have had to hide from her the fact that he was sleeping with Kylo. But he had found himself doing exactly that and then worrying that she suspected something.

 

He was so damn tired of feeling like he was somehow cheating on Mitaka and Phasma by sleeping with Kylo. He owed none of them anything – not his loyalty, not his exclusivity, and certainly not his love. Still, it all seemed like a massive juggling act. Hux never thought he’d find himself in the position of having too many people in love with him.

 

 

~//~

 

The hologram against which Kylo was supposed to be fighting was too easy of a target. The faceless, genderless, interactive projection was not suitably matched, considering Kylo was supposed to showcase his most impressive combat skills.

 

“Are you certain this is the fight sequence that Hux assigned to me for the gala demonstration?” Kylo asked Phasma in the training room.

 

“I’m positive. Sequence FN-2187,” Phasma replied without a doubt.

 

It was too simple. Hand-to-hand martial arts with only one weapon variant. He had perfected all these moves when he first learned them, and they were not challenging at this point. His holographic assailant barely fought back. Perhaps Hux thought that his true skill should be demonstrated in the field and not on a stage at a lavish party. But Kylo had no right to question his maker’s intentions.

 

Kylo ran through the sequence again, faster this time as the hologram responded to his speed. It was effortless to complete. When he was finished, he remarked to Phasma, “You’re a much more formidable opponent than this holo.”

 

Phasma cooed, “You flatter me so.”

 

She twirled the back of his hair with her fingers. Her fingertips felt pleasant at the back of his neck. Kylo closed his eyes and relished her gentle, nurturing caress. It was a wonder that Phasma, synthetic in every way, could be so tender, while Hux, entirely human, could be so coarse.

 

“I like the way you touch me,” Kylo murmured, leaning into her affectionately.

 

“You like the way _anyone_ touches you,” Phasma pointed out wryly as she continued to stroke the nape of Kylo’s neck, “As do I. It is the way our maker designed us.”

 

Her touch was warm from the thermal generators in her fingertips. Kylo could feel electricity cascade down his spine. It was not an unpleasant sensation, and one he was familiar with. It was a similar electric feeling to the one he would experience when his neural network was connected to the local server or to the computer at Hux’s workstation.

 

It was the sensation of data transfer.

 

Kylo jerked his head away and asked suspiciously, “What did you just do?”

 

“Routine inspection,” she replied before ruffling his hair, “Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

 

And with that, all of Kylo’s suspicions disappeared as he felt awash with the inescapable pull of code – a tide of ones and zeroes that he could not override.

 

~//~

 

Hux had been forcing a smile and shaking hands for nearly two hours. His cheeks were sore and he felt his fingers begin to cramp stiffly. There were worse things he could be doing, like giving a speech to a room of several hundred people, which was exactly what he was supposed to do in another hour.

 

He took his cocktail with him as he was seated for dinner and ordered another one from the server as soon as he reached the table. His was the table closest to the showcase stage, where the guest of honor always sat. Though Snoke never showed up to these things, there was always a seat at the front table for him. As expected, Snoke’s chair beside Hux’s was empty. His companions, who he could not consider his contemporaries, included the highest tier of sponsors and upper management. He had very little, if anything, in common with the others seated at the table.

 

A silver-haired woman next to Hux leaned over and muttered haughtily, “Well, here we are again. Another gala, another dressed-up sales pitch.”

 

Somewhat taken aback, Hux did not know how to respond and decided that the woman didn’t really want a response. He just nodded and smiled. He recognized her as Imogen Hale, President of Europa Trust Bank, one of Snoke Industries’ big name investors.

 

She, however, did not recognize Hux as the guest of honor, as he soon discerned from the tone of their one-sided conversation. “I don’t know why I bothered to come, really.” She waved her bejeweled hand dismissively, her enormous diamond rings glinting gaudily on her arthritis-mangled fingers. “Snoke hasn’t brought anything innovative or lucrative to the table in years,” she scoffed. “Europa Trust is nearly ready to pull funding. Unless this Hux fellow has something new and exciting to show me.” Jaded and bored, she drawled, “But I’m not holding my breath.”

 

Hux’s fake smile tightened. “Well, I expect you’ll be blown away.”

 

She sighed wistfully as she pat Hux’s hand. “I was a young executive like you once upon a time. So much optimism. But you’ll see. Snoke is a one-trick pony. You’re better off investing in pharmaceuticals.”

 

Hux bristled and took a swig of his vodka, inadvertently emptying the glass much sooner than was probably wise. He found himself wishing Mitaka would show up just so that he’d have somebody to talk to whom he didn’t want to strangle. Well, at least somebody he didn’t want to strangle _desperately_.

 

Mitaka arrived as if on cue. He wore a black tuxedo similar to Hux’s, accessorized with a stunning piece of female arm candy, which struck him as odd, until he realized whom the woman in the skin-tight, gold evening gown was.

 

“You didn’t need to ask upper management, sir. Upper management asked _me_ ,” said Phasma happily, like a robot Cinderella.

 

“I assume you don’t mind that I brought Phasma,” said Mitaka, pulling out Phasma’s chair for her, “I was left with nobody to take to the gala, so I had to improvise.”

 

Hux thought he sounded bitter about this fact and wondered if he should have asked Mitaka to accompany him as his date. Not that Mitaka would have been wrong to expect it, considering they were lovers of sorts, even if it had been a while since they’d slept together.

 

“No, I don’t mind,” said Hux, trying his best to be cordial in what could potentially turn into a very awkward situation, “You, erm, look good together.” It was a compliment that hopefully came across nothing more than polite.

 

Hux remembered that Ben had once said something about Mitaka and Phasma being a bit too friendly with one another. And as he sat across from them, he understood what Ben had been referring to. They leaned into each other to speak at a conspiratorial volume and exchanged furtive glances. Phasma laughed at all of Mitaka’s jokes and made sure to compliment him in conversation with their other table companions, all of whom she effortlessly charmed.

 

Hux was rather proud that his droid was the belle of the ball, so to speak. Though it bothered him that Mitaka was the one showing her off, taking credit where credit was not due.

 

“Your wife is delightful, Mitaka” remarked Alfayed Shah, energy magnate and major Snoke investor, “You two should have dinner with Zurmah and I sometime.”

 

“She’s not his wife,” Hux snapped.

 

Mitaka’s mouth quirked into a nervous smile.

 

There was an awkward pause amongst those at the table, but Shah was quick to ease the building tension. “No matter. If you’re ever in Jafran City, we’d love to have you, Mitaka.”

 

Hux wondered to whom Phasma was ultimately loyal and began to suspect that Mitaka had somehow undermined his programming. He did not pin Mitaka as the vindictive type however, and chalked up Phasma and Mitaka’s behavior to them conspiring to make him jealous.

 

They would be pleased to know that it was working. But Hux could not afford to be broody and jealous, especially when he was about to be presented as the guest of honor. Mitaka checked his wristlet and gave Hux a little nudge, ever the dutiful executive assistant despite the childish game he was playing.

 

Perfectly on schedule, the band began to play a fanfare and Mr. Snoke’s hologram appeared on stage, prompting everyone to rise for a round of applause. The ancient man sat in a wingback chair by a fireplace and gestured with his wrinkly hand for all to return to their seats.

 

He spoke slowly with the raspy voice of someone afflicted with chronic illness. “Welcome, esteemed guests, sponsors, and Snoke Industries family. I must once again apologize for my absence. Due to health concerns, I must join you via com-link holo from my home. Word of advice, friends – don’t get old.” It was the same joke every time, and as always, the entire room erupted in obligatory laughter. “It is well past bedtime for this geezer, and so I will turn things over to my assistant. Have a magical evening, and if you like what you see in the showcase tonight, do not hesitate to support our projects with your continued generosity. Thank you.” With a gracious nod, Snoke reclined in his chair and disappeared.

 

That was Mitaka’s cue to take the stage. It was always painful to watch him bumble through nervously as the reluctant stand-in host. He read directly from his ever-present tablet, pausing occasionally to look up from the screen at the audience and quickly regretting doing so.   After a very long speech meant to reassure and inspire investors, he glanced at Hux to give him the heads-up as to what was coming.

 

“And without further ado, it is with utmost pleasure that I present to you this year’s honoree, head engineer of the robotics development program of Snoke Industries, Brendol Hux.” The brightness of Mitaka’s smile made Hux wonder if the man was more than just relieved to be stepping down from the podium. Perhaps beneath the petty jealousy, Mitaka was proud of the guest of honor and maybe a little bit smug that he had fucked him.

 

As Hux rose from his seat, the sound of applause echoed through the large hall. He glanced down at Imogen Hale with a self-righteous smirk before approaching the stage. She returned her own superior grin. Hux stood at the podium, waited patiently for the room to quiet down, and gave his speech from memory. He’d rehearsed it enough times that he knew it like gospel. He’d been eager for his moment to shine, and now he dearly hoped to impress the shit out of everyone, Imogen Hale included. _That_ is what he’d been nervous about – not speaking in front of a massive audience, but winning them over.

 

“Tonight is the end of the world,” Hux began, kicking things off with a powerful statement meant to rouse the audience from complacency. This would not be another showcase of superfluous, self-indulgent technology. “The end of a world that has succumbed to destruction and decay. The end of the world as we know it on Earth.”

 

Hux annunciated with a pointed finger. “At this very moment, in a star system far from here, there is another world. A world that lies in wait for us. A lush paradise, abundant in natural resources, that could sustain our kind for eons to come. If only we’d take it.” He balled his fingers into a fist, as if seizing Lambda 7 with his own hand.

 

“But paradise comes at a price. The new world will not be ours without sacrifice. If we must risk human life in order to ensure the continuation of our species, then that risk should be optimized. And how do we optimize our human investment? By making a large impact with fewer lives, potentially eliminating the component of human casualty altogether. This is the goal of Project FORCE.”

 

The emotion of Hux’s tone began to escalate, building in volume as his words intensified in passion. “The new world can not be won with droids.   Those that would be conquered will not acquiesce to the fierce machines that we have built, upon which this corporation’s success stands. It will bow down in surrender to a face. Tonight, I present to you the face of intergalactic conquest, the key to human expansion, the embodiment of optimized human investment, and the future of Snoke Industries. Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues and gracious sponsors, I give you Project FORCE Prototype 1: Kylo Ren!”

 

This was Kylo’s cue to make his dramatic entrance. It probably would have been dramatic enough to have President Organa’s son strutting through the gala eliciting scandalized gasps in his wake, but it was important to demonstrate that this was not just a politician’s brat kid. This was a young man transformed.

 

Hux planned to have Kylo storm in through the side of the grand hall opposite the stage, and it was in that direction that he gestured. Everyone turned their attention towards the doors expectantly. When Kylo failed to come through the door, Hux panicked and fumbled with his wristlet to locate the errant prototype as he continued with his presentation speech.

 

“Prototype 1 is currently in development with a projected completion date of late 2128, and production expected to begin as soon as 2129, with a first application in 2130.”

 

A few isolated gasps sounded from the crowd, but whatever had inspired them was yet unseen. It was the change in direction of the audience’s attention that alerted Hux to Kylo’s whereabouts. He was descending from the enormously vaulted ceiling, sliding down a rope that Hux had somehow failed to notice dropping over the table of honor, wielding a broadsword. He wore his black training uniform and the addition of a hooded mantle.

 

This, of course, was a much more dramatic entrance, and Hux was sorry he hadn’t thought of it himself. Though he had no room to berate himself for his lack of theatrical creativity. He was too furious that Kylo was improvising without his permission or prior knowledge.

 

Kylo dropped to the table with his clunky boots, irreverent of the glass centerpiece and the remnants of dinner. Hux nervously tried to divert attention away from Kylo’s discourteous entrance. “Prototype 1, or Kylo Ren, as he calls himself, is the perfect marriage between human physiology and adaptive artificial intelligence software. His brain is implanted with a selenium micro processor integrated with his neural network through a fiber optic resonant control circuit and…”

 

But nobody was paying attention to any of the technical specifications, for Kylo was twirling his sword menacingly while those sitting around the table upon which he stood backed up against their seats in alarm. Hux hoped to end Kylo’s impromptu improvisation without making it known that Kylo was not behaving as he was supposed to. “Kylo will now demonstrate his combat skills through a programmed sequence, opposite a holographic simulation of…”

 

Hux did not get to finish his sentence. Kylo swung his sword in a wide arc towards Imogen Hale and cut her silver-haired head clean off her wrinkled neck, sending her decapitated head and a string of pearls onto Mitaka’s plate. Hux felt paralyzed as cold dread washed over him.

 

The hall erupted into horrified screams and chaos. Somebody had been quick to trigger a facility-wide alert. A loud, baritone siren blared three times before a recorded voice broadcast loudly through the public address system.

 

_Security breech code R2. Security breech code R2. System-wide lockdown effective immediately. All security staff, report to sector C3. All other occupants, proceed to the nearest lockdown shelter by following the blue indicator lights along the floor. Repeat. Security breech code R2…_

The recorded instructions repeated over and over as mass hysteria took over the hall. People were clambering over one another to get as far away from Kylo as quickly as possible. Except Mitaka. Like Hux, he remained frozen in shock, staring at the disembodied head of Snoke Industries’ wealthiest investor.

 

Mitaka snapped out of his daze and took command of the situation with an authoritativeness Hux had never seen before. Mitaka backed away and pointed up at the menacing figure on top of the table. “Destroy him, Phasma.”

 

Phasma took up a steak knife as a weapon, kicked off her heels, and jumped onto the table to fight Kylo.   But she hesitated.

 

Kylo’s expression immediately changed from one of deadly focus to confusion. He looked utterly bewildered and lost.

 

“Do it Phasma!” Mitaka commanded impatiently, “Or I will terminate you!”

This was what shook Hux out of his stunned reverie. He bounded down from the stage towards the table shouting hysterically as if he himself was being murdered, “No! Stand down! Both of you! That is a direct _order_!”

 

At that very moment, a squadron of six Stormtroopers burst into the room wielding white blaster rifles. For a brief moment Hux thought he was dreaming, or more appropriately, having the worst nightmare of his life. All of his Stormtroopers had been destroyed in the battle on Lambda 7. Or so he thought. The massive poly-carbon droids closed in on the table and aimed their rifles.

 

“Destroy them! Both of them!” Mitaka shouted, uncharacteristically assertive to the point of being tyrannical.

 

Hux barked madly, “No! Hold your fire!” But the droid soldiers did not respond to his voice commands the way they once had.

 

As blaster fire erupted noisily, Phasma and Kylo summersaulted off the table and ran for the doors, miraculously dodging bolts of airborne white-hot plasma. Because there were still gala attendees scrambling to escape the room in the same direction that Phasma and Kylo were fleeing, the Stormtroopers stopped firing.

 

“Cease pursuit of target!” Hux shouted ineffectually after the Stormtroopers as they plowed through the masses of well-dressed people to chase Phasma and Kylo. Realizing that the Stormtroopers only answered to Mitaka, Hux pounced on the other man, grabbing him firmly by the front of his tuxedo. “Call them off!” He snarled threateningly in Mitaka’s face.

 

Affronted and exasperated, Mitaka huffed, “Kylo has gone rogue, can’t you see? He needs to be stopped before he kills again.”

 

But Hux would not listen to reason. There was one singular thought in his mind – If Kylo and Phasma were caught, they would be destroyed. He didn’t even think about the fate of Project FORCE. He thought about losing the only two things, _no, the only two people_ , that he truly cared about.

 

“Call them off!” Hux repeated through gritted teeth. He released one panel of Mitaka’s suit jacket and balled his free hand into a fist, ready to punch Mitaka in the face.

 

Mitaka did not flinch nor cower as Hux had expected. Instead, he ignored the threat of violence and sneered condescendingly at Hux. “You’ve made a monster. You were stupid to think you could ever control it or contain it. You were too blinded by Kylo’s tight arse and fat cock to recognize your failure, too busy fucking him to train him properly. And Phasma. Your lack of control has allowed her to become an insubordinate whore.”

 

Mitaka was absolutely right. But that didn’t make the bitter pill any easier to swallow, nor did it diffuse any of Hux’s fury. He connected his fist with Mitaka’s nose. It hurt his hand likely just as much as it hurt Mitaka’s face. They backed away from one another, each reeling from the pain.

 

“This is almost as much my fault as it is yours,” Mitaka admitted bitterly, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a white kerchief. “I let my own feelings for you cloud my judgment. I should have kept you on a shorter leash. Monitored your work more closely. Then I would have seen where you were lax and would have intervened, instead of letting you have free reign of the robotics labs like a narcissistic mad scientist.”

 

Hux gaped at Mitaka, stunned by the other’s delusions of grandeur, and scoffed, thoroughly insulted, “ _Kept me on a shorter leash_? Do you think I’m your lap dog? As if you even have the authority!”

 

Mitaka shook his head and laughed. He looked like a maniac, cackling with blood smeared from his nose onto his lips. “All these years you’ve worked at Snoke Industries, and you never suspected a thing? You’re not the genius that everyone touted you as.”

 

Everything suddenly clicked into place, leaving Hux feeling tremendously stupid. Nobody had ever seen Mr. Snoke in person. Mitaka had always seemed too smart to be a mere personal assistant, always had more influence on the decisions of upper management than a glorified secretary should have, had seemed to miraculously grow a spine at random instances.

 

“There is no Snoke. _You_ own Snoke Industries,” Hux said, dazed by the implications of this realization.

 

“You’re not quite there,” said Mitaka condescendingly, “Try a little harder… as I often tell you in the bedroom.”

 

All this time, Hux thought that he’d been doing Mitaka a favor by sleeping with him. But really, it was Mitaka who was lowering himself to Hux’s level to get laid, or more likely, using sex to secretly keep Hux under his thumb.

 

“Whatever,” said Hux, exasperated, “You run the company.”

 

“You’re right,” Mitaka admitted, “My father had held a large portion of shares in the corporation, and when Snoke finally died, my father bought out his shares and gained the majority, which allowed him to install me as Chief Executive Officer. But I was much too young to serve as the face of Snoke Industries. Nobody would put their faith in an eighteen-year-old boy, however competent I was. And so I had used emergent technology, which you’d just begun to tap into as a wee intern, and had Snoke’s AI hologram developed in secret.”

 

“Which is a round-about way of saying you do have the ultimate authority to call off the Stormtroopers and return Kylo and Phasma to me unharmed,” said Hux.

 

“And it should also demonstrate to you the responsibility I have to this company and to society to exercise major damage control. Your disobedient killing machines need to be reined in. And if you do not assist in their capture and termination, you will face heavy sanctions.”

 

Hux understood that _heavy sanctions_ was a thinly veiled euphemism for _murder_. He stumbled woefully to the closest seat and buried his head in his arms, shaking and sobbing loudly. “I really fucked up. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so sorry, Mitaka. I’m so, _so_ , fucking sorry…”

 

And though Hux felt remorse, he did not allow it to affect him at that moment. His emotional breakdown was merely a ruse. When Mitaka came over to console him, as he had expected, Hux took the steak knife from the table, whirled around, and stabbed the other man with it, acting too quickly to aim the weapon properly. He meant to distract Mitaka by jabbing him in the arm. But he missed and thrust the knife into the back of his shoulder.

 

It did not go unnoticed that Hux literally stabbed his lover in the back. Mitaka’s eyes went wide, shocked at Hux’s betrayal and violent action. Hux did not hesitate to make his escape. As he ran, he contacted Phasma via com-link.

 

“Phasma, report!” he shouted into the wristlet, dashing towards the transport tunnel to take a shuttle pod back to the R & D sector of the massive campus.

 

“P1 and I managed to lose the Stormtroopers by hopping down a maintenance chute,” said Phasma, “We are in the transport tunnel. All shuttles are on lockdown. We are proceeding on foot.”

 

Hux brought up his holo screen and attempted to use both Kylo’s and Phasma’s internal tracking signals to locate them, but the signals could not penetrate the tunnels. “I’ll meet you at the closest access point to the lab, but I doubt we’ll be able to get back into the building.”

 

“Yes sir. I will locate said access point now.”

 

Hux knew that Star droid could activate the doors upon approach. He doubted that they would open during a facility-wide lockdown. But he had to try. He was able to bring Star’s camera’s online and command it to leave the lab. He was shocked to find that the droid was able to exit the lab, and subsequently open the pneumatic doors to re-enter. He tested it again. Star was granted unprecedented access. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he used it to his advantage.

 

Through Star’s camera eye, he watched the droid open the access port to the transport tunnel for Phasma and Kylo, who were waiting there.

 

“Go to my office and barricade yourselves there until I arrive,” Hux instructed. Now that they were out of the tunnels, he could track their location.

 

Hux used Star to open all the doors for him until he reached Phasma and Kylo. As soon as the pneumatic doors to the lab opened, Hux felt an overwhelming surge of fury. He stormed right up to Kylo, who was looking at him with large, remorseful eyes, and smacked him hard across the face with the back of his hand. Kylo’s head swung to the side from the impact. Of course, Kylo did not feel pain, but the message had still been delivered. It hurt Hux’s heart to reprimand Kylo so harshly, but it was necessary. Kylo could not be allowed to repeat what he had done.

 

“You will do as I say, exactly as I say, and you will not deviate from my commands by even a single set of binary code!” Hux roared at Kylo, who shrank away like a scolded child.

 

“I have never disobeyed you, sir. I have only ever done what you have commanded me to do,” Kylo declared clinically.

 

“Then what was that horrific bit of murderous improvisation back there, hm?” Hux demanded.

 

Kylo seemed confused. He paused for a silent moment before he said, “I was carrying out the exact sequence as planned, sir. _Your_ explicit instructions.”

 

There was something very wrong. Nowhere in his carefully designed demonstration sequence did Hux even allude to anything that Kylo had done at the gala. There was no room for misinterpretation. Mitaka was right. Kylo could not be controlled. He was dangerous. It was Hux’s moral responsibility to handle Kylo with his head and not with his heart. Hux knew what he had to do. And it crushed him to have to do it – to let go of his emotional attachment to Kylo and do the right thing.

 

Hux tenderly took Kylo’s face in his hands, as if trying to make up for the way he had struck him. Gently, he said, “Of course you did. Of course you were following the sequence.”

 

Kylo’s lip seemed to quiver as his eyes became glassy with tears. “Did I not perform to your expectations? Have I disappointed you?”

 

“It’s alright, Kylo,” Hux said, stroking Kylo’s cheek comfortingly, “I know you won’t do it again.”

 

Tears began to streak down Kylo’s face, wetting Hux’s hand. Watching Kylo cry was breaking Hux’s hard heart into a million little pieces. “I only ever want to please you, sir,” Kylo lamented quietly.

 

Hux pulled him into an embrace and Kylo rested his head on Hux’s shoulder. “I know.” He sighed deeply and turned his face to kiss Kylo’s head.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kylo whimpered, and then added with a whisper, “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Hux said softly. And this time, he was more confident that he meant it, which is not to say that he completely believed it. It didn’t matter. The important thing was that Kylo had to believe it. “Come with me. I’m going to protect you.” He took Kylo’s hand and led him to his office, glancing over his shoulder to tell Phasma, “Stay here and stand guard.”

 

Hux sat Kylo down in his office chair while he opened up a drawer within his workstation. He pulled out a framed photo of himself at his undergraduate commencement ceremony, standing between his parents. They looked so proud of him. He was such a gawky teenager, even ganglier than he was now. He flipped over the frame to open it. When he did not find what was supposed to be hidden there, he felt a sharp pang of panic from within his chest.

 

“Looking for this?”

 

Mitaka was in the doorway, dangling a key strip on a metal chain. Somehow, both Hux and Kylo had not noticed Mitaka entering the room. Phasma had not alerted them either, which made Hux worry about her safety. Mitaka’s hands were red and sticky with his own blood, and it was obvious from the way his brow furrowed that he was powering through some serious pain.

 

“How did you…?” Hux began, stunned that Mitaka was holding Kylo’s deactivation key.

 

“Don’t ask me. Ask your boy toy,” Mitaka gestured at Kylo, “He gave it to one of my, erm, little gutter charity cases in Cloud City.” He smirked darkly, knowingly, in a sinister way Hux had never seen him smile before. “I mean, Ben did,” he clarified, not that it made any more sense to Hux.

 

And then Mitaka addressed Kylo. “Your maker was looking for the key that would deactivate you. Do you know what that means, Kylo?”

 

Kylo glanced between Hux and Mitaka, looking betrayed and woeful. “Termination.” He fixed his stare upon Hux, like twisting a knife in his heart. “You wanted to end me.”

 

“To save you, Kylo,” Hux explained. “To shut down your FORCE implant without killing you. But Mitaka would just as readily shoot a blaster rifle through your brain.”

 

“No, I have better plans for you Kylo.” Mitaka swung the chain around his finger. “I will destroy the key. That way nobody can ever terminate you. But, you have to do something for me.”

 

Kylo did not even appear to consider it, but Hux was curious. “What’s your price?”

 

“I will be your master.” Mitaka spoke directly to Kylo, approaching him slowly. “Your primary director. You will answer to me, and _only_ to me. I want you to be _mine_.” He eyed Kylo up and down hungrily.

 

Kylo looked to Hux for guidance. Hux knew he was powerless and nodded his head solemnly. Kylo stood and said resolutely, “If it is what my maker wants…”

 

Mitaka asked, seemingly more out of courtesy than to actually gain permission, “Is it what you want, Hux?”

 

Hux gave a resigned sigh, knowing this was the only way to ensure Kylo wouldn’t be killed. “It’s what I want.”

 

Mitaka grinned triumphantly. “Brilliant.” Then he added, as if it was an afterthought, “Oh, and there’s one other thing I need you to do, Kylo.”

 

Kylo stood at attention, awaiting Mitaka’s command. “Yes, sir. Whatever you need of me, sir.”

 

Jealousy was already beginning to boil Hux’s blood. It hurt to see Kylo switch allegiance so readily, even though logic should have told him that Kylo’s love was merely a manifestation of his self-preserving code and an expression of his directive – not true emotion.

 

With a saccharine tone and a smile, Mitaka ordered, “Kill your maker.”

 

Hux’s eyes widened as he gasped, indignant and shocked. “You fucking _prick_.”

 

Mitaka shrugged his shoulders apologetically, but patronizingly so. “We could’ve been beautiful together, Hux. But you fucked it up, just like you fuck up _everything_. Project Stormtrooper, Project FORCE. You’re a massive failure,” he said condescendingly. He gave Kylo a little nod and commanded flippantly, “Go ahead; end his legacy of screwing up. Kill him.”

 

The blinding light from a blaster pistol cut across the room, skirting so close to Hux’s cheek that he could feel the heat of the plasma and smell the acrid stench of his singed hair. The blast hit Mitaka between the eyes. Hux and Kylo spun around to see where the shot had come from and found Phasma standing in the doorway, pistol still aimed. Her silicone skin had peeled off from parts of her body, exposing her inner mechanics, indicating that she’d been in some sort of scuffle, likely wresting a Stormtrooper for it’s blaster.

 

“Run.” She said calmly.

 

Hux was too stunned to move or say anything. Shooting Mitaka in the head was the last thing Hux thought Phasma would ever do. It completely flouted how he’d designed her – to never put human life at risk, but to save it. Now Hux knew, without a doubt, that Phasma was ultimately loyal to him and that she would truly do anything to protect him.

 

When Hux didn’t budge, Phasma spoke slightly more insistently. “New Republic Special Forces have been called in. And they’re armed. _Run_.”

 

“Not without you,” said Hux.

 

“They are close. If I don’t hold them off, you have no chance of escaping,” said Phasma.

 

Hux stared at her. Stared hard into her glass eyes and wondered when she had become a sentient, independent being. He knew that she understood how indebted he felt to her in that moment. He’d designed her to know his every expression, every nuance of his personality.

 

He didn’t have to say it, but he said it anyway. “Thank you, Phasma.”

 

She gave a curt, dutiful nod and simply said, “Sir,” as one would say _only doing my job._

 

And because Hux now understood that Phasma was so much more than a droid, he kissed her on the cheek. “Take care, Phasma.”

 

From the corner of his eye, Hux saw Kylo pry the key out of Mitaka’s dead hand.

 

Then he and Kylo took off running into the unknown.

 

For the world had truly ended for them that night.

 

And the New World was an intangible dream.

 

~//~

 

 

 

The alarms had been sounding for hours now as Hux and Kylo ran through the maze of corridors, finding that some doors would open for Star, while others would not. The alarms were background noise at this point.  

 

They found their way into an emergency stairwell and began running down towards the sublevels.

Through the din of alarms echoing through the stairwell, Hux could hear the sound of boots pounding the concrete steps. There were a lot of boots coming up the stairs. Hux swore quietly, gave Kylo a worried look, and started back up the stairs. He tried every door on every floor, but none would open for them.

 

When they made it to the top floor, Hux cursed the fact that his labs were in the highest tower of the Snoke Industries complex. Breathless and panicked, Hux stopped at the top of the stairwell. There was a door with a sign that read _ROOF ACCESS_.

 

It was one of very few doors that opened into the elements of the real environment, and not just into a climate controlled passageway between buildings.

 

Hux knew that if they opened the door that it was very likely they’d suffocate without respirators, or freeze to death, trapped on a rooftop in the heavy snowfall without proper cold weather gear. He resigned to the fact that it was over. There was nowhere else left to run to and the rhythmic sound of the Special Forces’ approach was growing louder.

 

Hux took Kylo’s hands in his and said, still out of breath, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

 

“I’m not sorry,” Kylo admitted, not winded in the least. “You love me. That’s all that matters.”

 

Hux stared up at the low ceiling, trying not to cry. He didn’t want to be _that guy_ that got captured by Special Forces, crying like an emotional bitch.

 

“I _do_ love you,” Hux wheezed, sobbing despite his efforts, “But it won’t matter when you’re on Death Row because of me.”

 

“I’m not giving up.” Kylo shook his head. “Come on.” He pulled Hux towards the door.

 

Hux tugged back, but could not escape Kylo’s firm grasp. “We’ll die out there.”

 

“I don’t want to die _in here_ ,” said Kylo.

 

Hux glanced around at their dreary, grey, concrete surroundings and heard the boots stomping closer. He flashed Kylo a look of terror as he accepted their fate and pressed his hand to the control panel that would open the pneumatic door. Of course it did not open, not even when Star attempted to trigger it.

 

Hux swore loudly, cursing the poor strategy and bad luck that led them to be trapped in the stairwell.  

 

But then the door hissed open, sending a blast of bone-chilling air howling through the doorway along with three Special Forces troopers wearing respirator masks, aiming high voltage electro-shock batons at Hux and Kylo. Hux’s first instinct was to put up his hands in surrender, but he suddenly realized that he had a lethal weapon.

 

“Kylo! Defensive attack sequence, non-fatal!” Hux commanded, not entirely sure that Kylo would obey, despite the confidence booming in his voice.

 

Kylo suddenly entered combat mode as if a switch had been flipped, and essentially one had been triggered in his brain. With a round-house kick, Kylo disarmed the first trooper easily. He then grabbed the trooper around the waist to flip them over his shoulder and send them tumbling down the stairs. It happened so quickly that the other troopers did not have time to react with their tasers. Kylo was onto them swiftly, exhibiting all of his hand-to-hand combat skills with effective precision. Hux daresay he was proud as he watched Kylo fight two troopers at the same time.

 

Kylo had one of his attackers in a headlock who was still managing to shoot him with their taser. He did not react to the pain, but his spasms indicated that the taser was still doing some damage, and maybe even interfering with Kylo’s implant. Seeing that Kylo was momentarily weakened, the other trooper also hit him with their taser.

 

Hux panicked. “Fatal attack sequence!” he commanded, not realizing the gravity of that directive until Kylo snapped the trooper’s neck.

 

It was the first time that Kylo had killed someone on Hux’s direct command, and he was both stunned and impressed with Kylo’s efficiency. As soon as the trooper dropped limply to the floor, Kylo pounced on the other one and pinned them to the ground. Kylo put his hands around the trooper’s throat and squeezed.

 

It took longer for the trooper to die this way, long enough for Hux to fully realize the power that he had. The trooper wheezed and flailed beneath Kylo, all while Kylo’s face remained emotionless. Kylo was squeezing the life out of another human being with his own hands because he _could_. And because _Hux_ had told him to. As awful as that was, it was also tremendously arousing, to Hux’s utter horror.

 

Hux could have told Kylo to stop. He could have told him to simply knock the trooper unconscious. But Hux allowed Kylo to continue strangling the trooper until they went limp and the respirator went silent. Because _he_ could. That was another startling revelation – that Hux had no qualms about taking lives, as long as he didn’t get his own hands bloody.

 

Kylo rose up and asked for further instructions with a glance and a word. “Sir?”

 

Hux looked behind Kylo and saw that the pneumatic doors were still open. The other troopers coming up the stairs were not far now. Hux could either unleash Kylo upon the troopers, or run. From the sound of it, there were possibly too many troopers for Kylo to fend off. So rather than risk losing Kylo, Hux jet towards the door, snatching Kylo’s hand as he ran through.

 

Together, they stepped out onto the snowy rooftop. A gust of wind blew the snowdrifts into Hux’s face and it felt like miniscule knives of ice lacerating his skin. The air was thin, lacking adequate oxygen, making every breath labored. But the air was _real_ , unfiltered. Hux had never been outside, _truly outside_ , for more than a couple of minutes. And though it physically hurt to be pummeled by all the elements of nature, it felt so fucking good to be free.

 

The wind died down for a moment, and in that moment, the snow that fell was gentle and beautiful. It was wet and cold on Hux’s cheeks. This too, was a novel sensation – to feel precipitation on his skin. He lifted his face to the sky and spread out his arms, letting nature have her cruel way with him as he ran over the rooftop. When he neared the edge, he stopped and was presented with an unadulterated view of boundless, white sky, of the endless grey mountains, of illuminated, glass towers.

 

He spun around slowly, surveying the stark and forbidding periphery – he’d never seen anything so beautiful and oppressive through his own eyes, unencumbered by polarizing glass. When he’d come full circle, Kylo was there, perhaps equally beautiful and oppressive. Kylo took Hux in his arms and held him tightly. Hux hadn’t even realized that he’d been shivering uncontrollably until he felt Kylo’s warmth comforting him.

 

“I never stopped being yours,” Kylo whispered into Hux’s ear.

 

It was in that moment, that Hux knew Kylo’s love was real, and that his own love for Kylo was equally genuine.

 

The whisper escalated into a whir. Hux realized that the sound was not a voice, not the wind, but the hum of a ship.

 

Off the edge of the rooftop, along the side of the tower, a massive, gleaming black vessel ascended into view. A knot grew in Hux’s stomach. Of course, an airborne crew would be called in to apprehend them. The ship was too huge to land on the roof, but instead a hatch opened, from which a bridge extended.

 

The light inside the ship was so bright that it glared against the white snow, rendering Hux momentarily blinded. Then from out of the light, a tall, sleek figure emerged. Standing barefoot, wearing a torn, gold gown, toting a blaster, was Phasma.

 

“Come on, boys, let’s go!” she called out to them.

 

Hux and Kylo ran to the bridge and boarded the ship. Phasma grinned at them smugly. “Welcome aboard The Finalizer. Where to, sir?” Phasma had managed to steal the largest, newest, most technologically advanced ship of the entire Snoke Industries fleet, modeled after The Rectifier.

 

“Anywhere but here,” said Hux, breathless and elated.

 

“I could use a copilot,” she said.

 

Hux put up his hands. “Don’t look at me. Spacecraft aren’t my thing.”

 

“I don’t know how to copilot a ship,” Kylo admitted.

 

Phasma touched the back of Kylo’s neck. A pleasant beep sounded. “Now you do,” both Phasma and Hux said in unison.

 

“I’ll need coordinates, sir. Any place in particular seem enticing to you?” Phasma asked.

 

“Well, I’ve always wanted to go to Lambda 7,” said Hux.


	17. Epilogue

Through the control bridge windows of The Finalizer, I watch a blue planet becoming smaller and smaller as we hurtle away from it through space. And as I watch the pretty, azure marble shrink to a glowing pinpoint, I realize that I do not know my true origins, other than the fact that I came from that glowing pinpoint.

 

From this vantage point, all of the political and social trappings of Earth begin to disappear. The New Republic loses its influence. Snoke Industries loses its control. There are no sides to take upon the divide, for the divide ceases to exist along with our ties to anyone on Earth. We answer to no one.

 

It no longer matters from where I came, why I was created, how I came to be, or even _what_ I am. I exist for him – my maker, my master, my lover.   I will serve him, love him, and conquer worlds for him. Never again will he look upon me with disappointment.

 

In a matter of days, we will reach Lambda 7.

 

And when we arrive, we will make it ours. We will claim the planet, not for humankind, but for ourselves. Because humankind, with its wickedness and its deceit, has betrayed us. We no longer trust anyone but each other.

 

Fuck Earth. Fuck The New Republic. Fuck Snoke Industries. Fuck their agenda. Fuck anybody that isn’t us.

 

I know who I am now. I am sentient human software. I am self-aware, adaptive, responsive, constantly evolving code. I belong to Hux, and yet I belong to no one. I am Kylo. And I am Ben.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That "fuck everybody that isn't us" line is straight from an episode of "Game of Thrones" in season 6. One of the best things ever to come out of Jaime Lannister's mouth.
> 
> And that's it! Although, it isn't really over. I'm outlining the sequel to Project FORCE, tentatively titled Eden. But I've neglected my Harry Potter Next-Gen WIP for too long and need to finish that up first. Please please please leave some feedback, even if it is to tell me that this story is awful.
> 
> Don't forget to check out the art in Chapter 18!

**Author's Note:**

> Love and gratitude go out to my partner ColorfulStabwound. I doubted myself every step of the way, and they were always there to help me through my insecurities, to be a sounding board for ideas, to beta, and to cheer me on. Though I wrote this for the Kylux Big Bang, really I wrote it for ColorfulStabwound, because if it were not for them, I would never have finished. 
> 
> Thank you to John, who was the best content beta for this story, being a real life head of engineering at a tech company. His insight into being an actual project manager helped me refine Hux’s story.
> 
> If you read this story in the first week after the KBB collection went live, you would have seen four companion art pieces. That artist had to pull out of the KBB and a pinch hitter stepped up to the plate and did something wonderful. Go give [curiumKingyo](http://burn-gormans-eyelashes.tumblr.com) lots of love on Tumblr and in the comments here.


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